f . • ' 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/mrdooleysphiloso00dunn_0 


Mr.  DOOLEY'S 
PHILOSOPHY 


POOR  PEOPLE  *EE  HAVE  SIMPLE  MEAES.  Page  IJI. 


Mr.  DOOLEYS 
PHILOSOPHY 


Illustrated  by 


F.  OPPER. 


R.  H.  'RX/SSELL.  TublUher 
JVcto  y’orK.  19  0 2 


Uo  the  Hennessys  of 
the  boorld  berho  suf- 
fer and  are  silent 


PREFACE 


HE  reporter  of  these  monologues  would 
apologize  for  the  frequent  reappear- 
ances of  Mr.  Dooley,  if  he  felt  the  old 
gentleman  would  appreciate  an  apol- 
ogy in  his  behalf.  But  Mr.  Dooley  has  none  of  the 
modesty  that  has  been  described  as  “ an  inven- 
tion for  protection  against  envy,”  because  unlike 
that  one  of  his  distinguished  predecessors  who  dis- 
covered this  theory  to  excuse  his  own  imperfect  but 
boastful  egotism,  he  recognizes  no  such  human 
failing  as  envy.  Most  of  the  papers  in  the  present 
collection  of  the  sayings  of  this  great  and  learned 
man,  have  appeared  in  the  press  of  America  and 
England.  This  will  account  for  the  fact  that  they 
deal  with  subjects  that  have  pressed  hard  upon 
the  minds  of  newspaper  readers,  statesmen,  and 
tax-payers  during  the  year.  To  these  utterances 

[7l 


PREFACE 


have  been  added  a number  of  obiter  dicta  by  the 
philosopher,  which,  perhaps,  will  be  found  to  have 
the  reminiscent  flavor  that  appertains  to  the  obser- 
vations of  all  learned  judges  when  they  are  off  the 
bench. 

In  some  cases  the  sketches  have  been  remodelled 
and  care  has  been  taken  to  correct  typographical 
blunders,  except  where  they  seemed  to  improve  the 
text.  In  this  connection  the  writer  must  offer  his 
profound  gratitude  to  the  industrious  typographer, 
who  often  makes  two  jokes  grow  where  only  one 
grew  before,  and  has  added  generously  to  the  dis- 
tress of  amateur  elocutionists. 

F.  P.  D. 


[8] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Book  Review 13 

Americans  Abroad 19 

Servant  Girl  Problem 27 

The  Transvaal 35 

War  and  War  Makers 43 

Underestimating  the  Enemy 49 

The  War  Expert 55 

Modern  Explosives 63 

The  Boer  Mission 69 

The  Chinese  Situation 77 

Minister  Wu 83 

The  Future  of  China 91 

Platform  Making 97 

The  Yacht  Races 103 

Polygamy 109 

Public  Fickleness 115 

Kentucky  Politics 121 


[9] 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Young  Oratory 129 

Public  Gratitude 135 

Marriage  and  Politics 141 

Alcohol  as  Food 149 

High  Finance 155 

The  Paris  Exposition 161 

Christian  Journalism 169 

The  Admiral’s  Candidacy 175 

Customs  of  Kentucky 181 

A Society  Scandai 189 

Doings  of  Anarchists 195 

Anglo-American  Sports 201 

Voices  from  the  Tomb 209 

The  Negro  Problem 217 

The  American  Stage 223 

Troubles  of  a Candidate 229 

A Bachelor’s  Life 235 

The  Education  of  the  Young 243 

“L’Aiglon” 251 

Casual  Observations 257 


[10] 


HooK.  'Re'Viebv 


A BOOK  REVIEW 

ELL  sir,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ I jus’  got 
hold  iv  a book,  Hinnissy,  that  suits  me 
up  to  th’  handle,  a gran’  book,  th’ 
grandest  iver  seen.  Ye  know  I’m  not 
much  throubled  be  lithrachoor,  havin’  manny  wor- 
ries iv  me  own,  but  I’m  not  prejudiced  again’ 
books.  I am  not.  Whin  a rale  good  book  comes 
along  I’m  as  quick  as  anny  wan  to  say  it  isn’t  so 
bad,  an’  this  here  book  is  fine.  I tell  ye  ’tis  fine.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” Mr.  Hennessy  asked  languidly. 
“’Tis  ‘ Th’  Biography  iv  a Hero  be  Wan  who 
Knows.’  ’Tis  ‘Th’  Darin’  Exploits  iv  a Brave 
Man  be  an  Actual  Eye  Witness.’  ’Tis  ‘Th’  Ac- 
count iv  th’  Desthruction  iv  Spanish  Power  in  th’ 
Ant  Hills,’  as  it  fell  fr’m  th’  lips  iv  Tiddy  Rosenfelt 
an’  was  took  down  be  his  own  hands.  Ye  see  ’twas 
this  way,  Hinnissy,  as  I r-read  th’  book.  Whin 
Tiddy  was  blowed  up  in  th’  harbor  iv  Havana  he 

‘[13] 


A BOOK  REVIEW 


instantly  con-cluded  they  must  be  war.  He  de- 
bated th’  question  long  an’  earnestly  an’  fin’lly 
passed  a jint  resolution  declarin’  war.  So  far  so 
good.  But  there  was  no  wan  to  carry  it  on.  What 
shud  he  do  ? I will  lave  th’  janial  author  tell  th’ 
story  in  his  own  wurruds. 

. “ ‘ Th’  sicrety  iv  war  had  offered  me,’  he  says, 
‘ th’  command  of  a rig’mint,’  he  says,  ‘ but  I cud 
not  consint  to  remain  in  Tampa  while  perhaps  less 
audacious  heroes  was  at  th’  front,’  he  says.  ‘Be- 
sides,’ he  says,  ‘ I felt  I was  incompetent  f’r  to  com- 
mand a rig’mint  raised  be  another,’  he  says.  ‘ I 
detarmined  to  raise  wan  iv  me  own,’  he  says.  ‘ I 
selected  fr’m  me  acquaintances  in  th’  West,’  he 
says,  ‘ men  that  had  thravelled  with  me  acrost  th’ 
desert  an’  th’  storm-wreathed  mountain,’  he  says, 
‘ sharin’  me  burdens  an’  at  times  confrontin’  perils 
almost  as  gr-reat  as  anny  that  beset  me  path,’  he 
says.  ‘Together  we  had  faced  th’  turrors  iv  th’ 
large  but  vilent  West,’  he  says,  ‘an’  these  brave 
men  had  seen  me  with  me  trusty  rifle  shootin’  down 
th’  buffalo,  th’  elk,  th’  moose,  th’  grizzly  bear,  th’ 
mountain  goat,’  he  says,  ‘th’  silver  man,  an’  other 
ferocious  beasts  iv  thim  parts,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  they 
niver  flinched,’  he  says.  ‘ In  a few  days  I had  thim 
perfectly  tamed,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  ready  to  go  anny- 

[ >4  ] 


A BOOK  REVIEW 


where  I led,’  he  says.  ‘ On  th’  thransport  goi’n  to 
Cubia,’  he  says,  ‘ I wud  stand  beside  wan  iv  these 
r-rough  men  threatin’  him  as  a akel,  which  he  was 
in  ivrything  but  birth,  education,  rank  an’  courage, 
an’  together  we  wud  look  up  at  th’  admirable  stars 
iv  that  tolerable  southern  sky  an’  quote  th’  bible 


fr’m  Walt  Whitman,’  he  says.  ‘ Honest,  loyal, 
thrue-hearted  la-ads,  how  kind  I was  to  thim,’  he 
says. 

“‘We  had  no  sooner  landed  in  Cubia  than  it 
become  nicessry  f’r  me  to  take  command  iv  th’ 
ar-rmy  which  I did  at  wanst.  A number  of  days 
was  spint  be  me  in  reconnoitring,  attinded  on’y  be 
me  brave  an’  fluent  body  guard,  Richard  Harding 
Davis.  I discovered  that  th’  inimy  was  heavily  in- 

[15] 


A BOOK  REVIEW 

threnched  on  th’  top  iv  San  Joon  hill  immejiately 
in  front  iv  me.  At  this  time  it  become  appar- 
ent that  I was  handicapped  be  th’  prisence  iv  th’ 
ar-rmy,’  he  says.  ‘ Wan  day  whin  I was  about 
to  charge  a block  house  sturdily  definded  be  an 
ar-rmy  corps  undher  Gin’ral  Tamale,  th’  brave  Cas- 
tile that  I aftherwards  killed  with  a small  ink-eraser 
that  I always  carry,  I r-ran  into  th’  entire  military 
force  iv  th’  United  States  lying  on  its  stomach. 
‘ If  ye  won’t  fight,’  says  I,  ‘ let  me  go  through,’  I 
says.  ‘ Who  ar-re  ye  ? ’ says  they.  ‘ Colonel  Ro- 
se nf'e  It,’  says  I.  ‘ Oh,  excuse  me,’  says  the  gin’ral 
in  command  (if  me  mimry  serves  me  thrue  it 
was  Miles)  r-risin’  to  his  knees  an’  salutin’.  This 
showed  me  ’twud  be  impossible  f’r  to  carry  th’  war 
to  a successful  con-clusion  unless  I was  free,  so  I 
sint  th’  ar-rmy  home  an’  attackted  San  Joon  hill. 
Ar-rmed  on’y  with  a small  thirty-two  which  I used 
in  th’  West  to  shoot  th’ fleet  prairie  dog,  I climbed 
that  precipitous  ascent  in  th’  face  iv  th’  most  gallin’ 
fire  I iver  knew  or  heerd  iv.  But  I had  a few 
r-rounds  iv  gall  mesilf  an’  what  cared  I ? I dashed 
madly  on  cheerin’  as  I wint.  Th’  Spanish  throops 
was  dhrawn  up  in  a long  line  in  th’  formation 
known  among  military  men  as  a long  line.  I fired 
at  th’  man  nearest  to  me  an’  I knew  be  th’  expres- 

[ 1 6 ] 


A BOOK  REVIEW 


sion  iv  his  face  that  th’  trusty  bullet  wint  home. 

It  passed  through  his  frame,  he  fell,  an’  wan  little 

home  in  far-off  Catalonia  was  made  happy  be  th’ 

thought  that  their  riprisintative  had  been  kilt  be  th’ 

future  governor  iv  New  York.  Th’  bullet  sped  on 

its  mad  flight  an’  passed  through  th’  intire  line 

fin’llv  imbeddin’  itself  in  th’  abdomen  iv  th’  Ar-rch- 
* 

bishop  iv  Santiago  eight  miles  away.  This  ended 
th’  war.’ 

“ ‘ They  has  been  some  discussion  as  to  who  was 
th’  first  man  to  r-reach  th’  summit  iv  San  Juon  hill. 
I will  not  attempt  to  dispute  th’  merits  iv  th’ 
manny  gallant  sojers,  statesmen,  corryspondints  an’ 
kinetoscope  men  who  claim  th’  distinction.  They 
ar-re  all  brave  men  an’  if  they  wish  to  wear  my  lau- 
rels they  may.  I have  so  manny  annyhow  that  it 
keeps  me  broke  havin’  thim  blocked  an’  irned. 
But  I will  say  f’r  th’  binifit  iv  Posterity  that  I was 
th’  on’y  man  I see.  An’  I had  a tillyscope.’  ” 

“ I have  thried,  Hinnissy,”  Mr.  Dooley  contin- 
ued, “ to  give  you  a fair  idee  iv  th’  contints  iv  this 
remarkable  book,  but  what  I’ve  tol’  ye  is  on’y  what 
Hogan  calls  an  outline  iv  th’  principal  pints.  Ye’ll 
have  to  r-read  th’  book  ye’ersilf  to  get  a thrue  con- 
ciption.  I haven’t  time  f’r  to  tell  ye  th’  wurruk 
Tiddy  did  in  ar-rmin’  an’  equippin’  himself,  how 

[ 17] 


A BOOK  REVIEW 

he  fed  himsilf,  how  he  steadied  himsilf  in  battle 
an’  encouraged  himsilf  with  a few  well-chosen 
wurruds  whin  th’  sky  was  darkest.  Ye’ll  have  to 
take  a squint  into  th’  book  ye’ersilf  to  l’arn  thim 
things.” 

“ I won’t  do  it,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ I think 
Tiddy  Rosenfelt  is  all  r-right  an’  if  he  wants  to 
blow  his  hor-rn  lave  him  do  it.” 

“ Thrue  f ’r  ye,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ an’  if  his 
valliant  deeds  didn’t  get  into  this  book  ’twud  be  a 
long  time  befure  they  appeared  in  Shafter’s  histhry 
iv  th’  war.  No  man  that  bears  a gredge  again’  him- 
silf ’ll  iver  be  governor  iv  a state.  An’  if  Tiddy 
done  it  all  he  ought  to  say  so  an’  relieve  th’  sus- 
pinse.  But  if  I was  him  I’d  call  th’  book  ‘ Alone 
in  Cubia.’  ” 


[18] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


WONDHER,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “what 
me  Dutch  frind  Oom  Paui’ll  think  whin 
he  hears  that  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor 
has  given  four  thousan’  pounds  or 
twinty  thousan’  iv  our  money  as  a conthribution  to 
th’  British  governmint  ? ” 

“Who’s  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor?”  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy  asked.  “ I niver  heerd  iv  him.” 

“Ye  wudden’t,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “He  don’t 
thravel  in  ye’er  set.  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor  is  a 
gintleman  that  wanst  committed  th’  sin  iv  bein’ 
bor-rn  in  this  counthry.  Ye  know  what  orig-inal 
sin  is,  Hinnissy.  Ye  was  bor-rn  with  wan  an’  I 
was  bor-rn  with  wan  an’  ivrybody  was  bor-rn  with 
wan.  ’Twas  took  out  iv  me  be  Father  Tuomy 
with  holy  wather  first  an’  be  me  father  aftherward 
with  a sthrap.  But  I niver  cud  find  out  what  it 
was.  Th’  sins  I’ve  committed  since.  I’m  sure  iv. 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


They’re  painted  red  an’  carry  a bell  an’  whin  I’m 
awake  in  bed  they  stan’  out  on  th’  wall  like  th’  ilic- 
thric  signs  they  have  down  be  State  sthreet  in  front 
iv  th’  clothin’  stores.  But  I’ll  go  to  th’  grave  with- 
out knowin’  exactly  what  th’  black  orig-inal  sin  was 
I committed.  All  I know  is  I done  wrong.  But 
with  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor  ’tis  diff’rent.  I say 
’tis  diff’rent  with  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor.  His 
orig-inal  sin  was  bein’  bor-rn  in  New  York.  He 
cudden’t  do  anything  about  it.  Nawthin’  in  this 
counthry  wud  wipe  it  out.  He  built  a hotel  in- 
tinded  f’r  jooks  who  had  no  sins  but  thim  iv  their 
own  makin’,  but  even  th’  sight  iv  their  haughty  bills 
cud  not  efface  th’  stain.  He  thried  to  live  down  his 
crime  without  success  an’  he  thried  to  live  down  to 
it  be  runnin’  f’r  congress,  but  it  was  no  go.  No 
matther  where  he  wint  among  his  counthrymen  in 
England  some  wan  wud  find  out  he  was  bor-rn  in 
New  York  an’  th’  man  that  ownded  th’  house  where 
he  was  spindin’  th’  night  wud  ast  him  if  he  was  a 
cannibal  an’  had  he  anny  Indyan  blood  in  his  veins. 
’Twas  like  seein’  a fine  lookin’  man  with  an  intel- 
lecjal  forehead  an’  handsome,  dar-rk  brown  eyes  an’ 
admirin’  him,  an’  thin  lamin’  his  name  is  Mudd  J. 
Higgins.  His  accint  was  proper  an’  his  clothes 
didn’t  fit  him  right,  but  he  was  not  bor-rn  in  th’ 

[20] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


home  iv  his  dayscindants,  an’  whin  he  walked  th’ 
sthreets  iv  London  he  knew  ivry  polisman  was 
sayin’ : ‘ There  goes  a man  that  pretinds  to  be 
happy,  but  a dark  sorrow  is  gnawin’  at  his  bosom. 
He  looks  as  if  he  was  at  home,  but  he  was  bor-rn 
in  New  York,  Gawd  help  him.’ 

“ So  this  poor  way-worn  sowl,  afther  thryin’  ivry 


other  rimidy  fr’m  dhrivin’  a coach  to  failin’  to  vote, 
at  las’  sought  out  th’  rile  high  dark  iv  th’  coort  an’ 
says  he  : ‘ Behold,’  he  says,  ‘ an  onhappy  man,’  he 

says.  ‘ With  millyons  in  me  pocket,  two  hotels  an’ 
onlimited  credit,’  he  says,  ‘ me  hear-rt  is  gray,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Poor  sowl,’  says  th’  dark  iv  th’  coort, 
‘ What’s  ailin’  ye  *?  ’ he  says.  ‘ Have  ye  committed 

[21] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


some  gr-reat  crime  ? ’ he  says.  ‘ Partly,’  says  Wil- 
lum  Waldorf  Asthor.  ‘ It  was  partly  me  an’  partly 
me  folks,’  he  says.  ‘ I was,’  he  says,  in  a voice 
broken  be  tears,  ‘ I was,’  he  says,  ‘ bor-rn  in  New 
York,’  he  says.  Th’  dark  made  th’  sign  iv  th’ 
cross  an’  says  he : ‘Ye  shudden’t  have  come  here,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Poor  afflicted  wretch,’  he  says,  ‘ ye  need 
a clargyman,’  he  says.  ‘ Why  did  ye  seek  me 
out?’  he  says.  ‘Because,’  says  W ilium  Waldorf 
Asthor,  ‘ I wish,’  he  says,  ‘ f ’r  to  renounce  me  sinful 
life,’  he  says.  * I wish  to  be  bor-rn  anew,’  he  says. 
An’  th’  dark  bein’  a kind  man  helps  him  out.  An’ 
Willum  Waldorf  Asthor  renounced  fealty  to  all 
foreign  sovereigns,  princes  an’  potentates  an’  es- 
pecially Mack  th’  Wanst,  or  Twict,  iv  th’  United 
States  an’  Sulu  an’  all  his  wur-ruks  an’  he  come  out 
iv  th’  coort  with  his  hat  cocked  over  his  eye,  with  a 
step  jaunty  and  high,  afther  years  iv  servile  freedom 
a bondman  at  last ! 

“ So  he’s  a citizen  iv  Gr-reat  Britain  now  an’  a 
lile  subject  iv  th’  Queen  like  you  was  Hinnissy 
befure  ye  was  r-run  out.” 

“ I niver  was,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ Sure  th’ 
Queen  iv  England  was  renounced  f’r  me  long 
befure  I did  it  f’r  mesilf — to  vote.” 

“ W ell,  niver  mind,”  Mr.  Dooley  continued, 

[22] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


“ he’s  a citizen  iv  England  an’  he  has  a castle  that’s 
as  big  as  a hotel,  on’y  nobody  goes  there  excipt 
thim  that’s  ast,  an’  not  all  of  those,  an’  he  owns  a 
newspaper  an’  th’  editor  iv  it’s  the  Prince  iv  Wales 
an’  th’  rayporthers  is  all  jooks  an’  th’  Archbishop  iv 
Canterbury  r-runs  th’  ilivator,  an’  slug  wan  in  th’ 
printin’  office  is  th’  Impror  iv  Germany  in  disgeese. 
’Tis  a pa-per  I’d  like  to  see.  I’d  like  to  know  how 
th’  Jook  iv  Marlbro’d  do  th’  McGovern  fight.  An’ 
some  day  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor’ll  be  able  to 
wurruk  f’r  his  own  pa-aper,  f’r  he’s  goin’  to  be  a 
earl  or  a markess  or  a jook  or  somethin’  gran’.  Ye 
can’t  be  anny  iv  these  things  without  money,  Hin- 
nissy,  an’  he  has  slathers  iv  it.” 

“ Where  does  he  get  it?  ” demanded  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy. 

“ F’rm  this  counthry,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 

“ I shud  think,”  Mr.  Hennessy  protested  stoutly, 
“ if  he’s  ashamed  iv  this  counthry  he  wudden’t  want 
to  take  money  f’rm  it.” 

“That’s  where  ye’re  wrong,”  Mr.  Dooley  replied. 
“ Take  money  anny  where  ye  find  it.  I’d  take 
money  f’rm  England,  much  as  I despise  that  former- 
ly haughty  but  now  dejected  land,  if  I cud  get  anny 
from  there.  An’  whin  ye  come  down  to  it,  I din- 
naw  as  I blame  Willum  Waldorf  Asthorf’r  shiftin’ 

[23] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


his  allegiance.  Ivry  wan  to  his  taste  as  th’  man  said 
whin  he  dhrank  out  iv  th’  fire  extinguisher.  It 
depinds  on  how  ye  feel.  If  ye  ar-re  a tired  la-ad 
an’  wan  without  much  fight  in  ye,  livin’  in  this 
counthry  is  like  thryin’  to  read  th’  Lives  iv  the 
Saints  at  a meetin’  iv  th’  Clan-na-Gael.  They’se 
no  quiet  f’r  annybody.  They’s  a fight  on  ivry 
minyit  iv  th’  time.  Ye  may  say  to  ye’ersilf:  ‘I’ll 

lave  these  la-ads  roll  each  other  as  much  as  they 
plaze,  but  I’ll  set  here  in  th’  shade  an’  dhrink  me 
milk  punch,’  but  ye  can’t  do  it.  Some  wan  ’ll  say, 
‘ Look  at  that  gazabo  settin’  out  there  alone.  He’s 
too  proud  f’r  to  jine  in  our  simple  dimmycratic 
festivities.  Lave  us  go  over  an’  bate  him  on  th’ 
eye.’  An’  they  do  it.  Now  if  ye  have  fightin’ 
blood  in  ye’er  veins  ye  hastily  gulp  down  ye’er 
dhrink  an’  hand  ye’er  assailant  wan  that  does  him  no 
kind  iv  good,  an’  th’  first  thing  ye  know  ye’re  in  th’ 
thick  iv  it  an’  its  scrap,  scrap,  scrap  till  th’  undher- 
taker  calls  f’r  to  measure  ye.  An’  ’tis  tin  to  wan 
they’se  somethin’  doin’  at  th’  fun’ral  that  ye’re  sorry 
ye  missed.  That’s  life  in  America.  ’Tis  a gloryous 
big  fight,  a rough  an’  tumble  fight,  a Donnybrook 
fair  three  thousan’  miles  wide  an’  a ruction  in  ivry 
block.  Head  an’  han’s  an’  feet  an’  th’  pitchers  on 
th’  wall.  No  holds  barred.  Fight  fair  but  don’t 

[34] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


f ’rget  th’  other  la-ad  may  not  know  where  th’  belt 
line  is.  No  polisman  in  sight.  A man’s  down 
with  twinty  on  top  iv  him  wan  minyit.  Th’  next 
he’s  settin’  on  th’  pile  usin’  a base-ball  bat  on  th’ 
neighbor  next  below  him.  ‘ Come  on,  boys,  f ’r  ’tis 
growin’  late,  an’  no  wan’s  been  kilt  yet.  Glory  be, 
but  this  is  th’  life  ! ’ 

“ Now,  if  I’m  tired  I don’t  want  to  fight.  A man 
bats  me  in  th’  eye  an’  I call  f’r  th’  polis.  They  isn’t 
a polisman  in  sight.  I say  to  th’  man  that  poked 
me : ‘ Sir,  1 fain  wud  sleep.’  ‘ Get  up,’  he  says, 

‘ an’  be  doin’,’  he  says.  ‘ Life  is  rale,  life  is  earnest,’ 
he  says,  ‘ an’  man  was  made  to  fight,’  he  says,  fetch- 
in’  me  a kick.  An’  if  I’m  tired  I say,  ‘ What’s  th’ 
use  ? I’ve  got  plenty  iv  money  in  me  inside 
pocket.  I’ll  go  to  a place  where  they  don’t  know 
how  to  fight.  I’ll  go  where  I can  get  something 
but  an  argymint  f’r  me  money  an’  where  I won’t 
have  to  rassle  with  th’  man  that  bates  me  carpets, 
ayether,’  I says,  ‘ f’r  fifty  cints  overcharge  or  good 
govermint,’  I says.  An’  I pike  off  to  what  Hogan 
calls  th’  effete  monarchies  iv  Europe  an’  no  wan 
walks  on  me  toes,  an’  ivry  man  I give  a dollar  to 
becomes  an  acrobat  an’  I live  comfortably  an’  die  a 
markess ! Th’  divvle  I do ! 

“That’s  what  I was  goin’  to  say,”  Mr.  Hen- 

C25] 


AMERICANS  ABROAD 


nessy  remarked.  ‘ Ye  wudden’t  live  anny where 
but  here.” 

“ No,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ I wudden’t.  I’d  rather 
be  Dooley  iv  Chicago  than  th’  Earl  iv  Peltville.  It 
must  be  that  I’m  iv  th’  fightin’  kind.” 


[26] 


SERVANT  GIRL 
PROBLEM 


HIN  Congress  gets  through  expellin’ 
mimbers  that  believes  so  much  in  math- 
rimony  that  they  carry  it  into  ivry  re- 
lation iv  life  an’  opens  th’  dure  iv  Chiny 
so  that  an  American  can  go  in  there  as  free  as  a 
Chinnyman  can  come  into  this  refuge  iv  th’  op- 
prissed  iv  th’  wurruld,  I hope  ’twill  turn  its  attintion 
to  th’  gr-reat  question  now  confrontin’  th’  nation — 
th’  question  iv  what  we  shall  do  with  our  hired  help. 
What  shall  we  do  with  thim  ? 

“We  haven’t  anny,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ No,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ Ar-rchey  r-road  has 
no  servant  girl  problem.  Th’  rule  is  ivry  woman 
her  own  cook  an’  ivry  man  his  own  futman,  an’  be 
th’  same  token  we  have  no  poly-gamy  problem  an’ 
no  open  dure  problem  an’  no  Ph’lippeen  problem. 

[ 27  ] 


SERVANT  GIRL  PROBLEM 


Th’  on’y  problem  in  Ar-rchey  r-road  is  how  manny 
times  does  round  steak  go  into  twelve  at  wan  dollar- 
an-a-half  a day.  But  east  iv  th’  r-red  bridge,  Hin- 
nissy,  wan  iv  th’  most  cryin’  issues  iv  th’  hour  is : 
What  shall  we  do  with  our  hired  help  ? An’  if 
Congress  don’t  take  hold  iv  it  we  ar-re  a rooned 
people. 

“ ’1  is  an  ol’  problem  an’  I’ve  seen  it  arise  an’ 
shake  its  gory  head  ivry  few  years  whiniver  th’ 
Swede  popylation  got  wurruk  an’  begun  bein’  marrid, 
thus  rayjoocin’  th’  visible  supply  iv  help.  But  it 
seems  ’tis  deeper  thin  that.  I see  be  letters  in  th’ 
pa-apers  that  servants  is  insolent,  an’  that  they  won’t 
go  to  wurruk  onless  they  like  th’  looks  iv  their  em- 
ployers, an’  that  they  rayfuse  to  live  in  th’  counthry. 
Why  anny  servant  shud  rayfuse  to  live  in  th’  coun- 
thry is  more  thin  I can  see.  Ye’d  think  that  this 
disreputable  class’d  give  annything  to  lave  th’  crowd- 
ed tinimints  iv  a large  city  where  they  have  frinds 
be  th’  hundherds  an’  know  th’  polisman  on  th’  bate 
an’  can  go  out  to  hateful  dances  an’  moonlight  pic- 
nics— ye’d  think  these  unforchnate  slaves’d  be  de- 
lighted to  live  in  Mulligan’s  subdivision,  amid  th’ 
threes  an’  flowers  an’  bur-rds.  Gettin’  up  at  four 
o’clock  in  th’  mornin’  th’  singin’  iv  th’  full-throated 
alarm  clock  is  answered  be  an  invisible  choir  iv 

[28] 


SERVANT  GIRL  PROBLEM 


songsters,  as  Shakespere  says,  an’  ye  see  th’  sun  rise 
over  th’  hills  as  ye  go  out  to  carry  in  a ton  iv  coal. 
All  day  long  ye  meet  no  wan  as  ye  thrip  over  th’ 
coal-scuttle,  happy  in  ye’er  tile  an’  ye’er  heart  is  en- 
livened be  th’  thought  that  th’  childher  in  th’  front 
iv  th’  house  ar-re  growin’  sthrong  on  th’  fr-resh 
counthry  air.  Besides  they’se  always  cookin’  to  do. 
At  night  ye  can  set  be  th’  fire  an’  improve  ye’er 


mind  be  r-readin’  half  th’  love  story  in  th’  part  iv 
th’  pa-aper  that  th’  cheese  come  home  in,  an’  whin 
ye’re  through  with  that,  all  ye  have  to  do  is  to 
climb  a ladder  to  th’  roof  an’  fall  through  th’  sky- 
light an’  ye’re  in  bed. 

“ But  wud  ye  believe  it,  Hinnissy,  manny  iv  these 
misguided  women  rayfuse  f’r  to  take  a job  that  aint 
in  a city.  They  prefer  th’  bustle  an’  roar  iv  th’  busy 

[ 29  ] 


SERVANT  GIRL  PROBLEM 


marts  iv  thrade,  th’  sthreet  car,  th’  saloon  on  three 
corners  an’  th’  church  on  wan,  th’  pa-apers  ivry  morn- 
in’  with  pitchers  iv  th’  s’ciety  fav’rite  that’s  just 
thrown  up  a good  job  at  Armours  to  elope  with  th’ 
well-known  club  man  who  used  to  be  yard-masther 
iv  th’  three  B’s,  G,  L,  & N.,  th’  shy  peek  into  th’ 
dhry-goods  store,  an’  other  base  luxuries,  to  a free 
an’  healthy  life  in  th’  counthry  between  iliven  P.M. 
an’  four  A.M.  Wensdahs  an’  Sundahs.  ’Tis  worse 
thin  that,  Hinnissy,  f’r  whin  they  ar-re  in  th’  city 
they  seem  to  dislike  their  wurruk  an’  manny  iv  thim 
ar-re  givin’  up  splindid  jobs  with  good  large  families 
where  they  have  no  chanst  to  spind  their  salaries,  if 
they  dhraw  thim,  an’  takin’  places  in  shops,  an’  get- 
tin’  marrid  an’  adoptin’  other  devices  that  will  give 
thim  th’  chanst  f’r  to  wear  out  their  good  clothes. 
’Tis  a horrible  situation.  Riley  th’  conthractor 
dhropped  in  here  th’  other  day  in  his  horse  an’  buggy 
on  his  way  to  the  dhrainage  canal  an’  he  was  all 
wurruked  up  over  th’  question.  ‘Why,’  he  says, 
‘ ’tis  scand’lous  th’  way  servants  act,’  he  says.  ‘ Mrs. 
Riley  has  hystrics,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  ivry  two  or  three 
nights  whin  I come  home,’  he  says,  ‘ I have  to  win 
a fight  again’  a cook  with  a stove  lid  befure  I can 
move  me  family  off  th’  fr-ront  stoop,’  he  says.  ‘ We 
threat  thim  well  too,’  he  says.  ‘ I gave  th’  las’  wan 

[ 30  J 


SERVANT  GIRL  PROBLEM 


we  had  fifty  cints  an’  a cook  book  at  Chris’mas  an’ 
th’  next  day  she  left  befure  breakfast,’  he  says. 
‘ What  naytionalties  do  ye  hire  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ I’ve 
thried  thim  all,’  he  says,  ‘ an’,’  he  says,  ‘ I’ll  say  this 
in  shame,’  he  says,  ‘that  th’  Irish  ar-re  th’  worst,’  he 
says.  ‘Well,’  says  I,  ‘ye  need  have  no  shame,’  I 
says,  ‘ f ’r  ’tis  on’y  th’  people  that  ar-re  good  servants 
that’ll  niver  be  masthers,’  I says.  ‘ Th’  Irish  ar-re 
no  good  as  servants  because  they  ar-re  too  good,’  I 
says.  ‘ Th’  Dutch  ar-re  no  good  because  they  aint 
good  enough.  No  matther  how  they  start  they  get 
th’  noodle  habit.  I had  wan,  wanst,  an’  she  got  so 
she  put  noodles  in  me  tay,’  I says.  ‘Th’  Swedes 
ar-re  all  right  but  they  always  get  marrid  th’  sicond 
day.  Ye’ll  have  a polisman  at  th’  dure  with  a war- 
rant f’r  th’  arrist  iv  ye’er  cook  if  ye  hire  a Bohee- 
myan,’  I says.  ‘ Coons’d  be  all  right  but  they’re  lia- 
ble f’r  to  hand  ye  ye’er  food  in  ragtime,  an’  if  ye 
ordher  pork-chops  f’r  dinner  an’  th’  hall  is  long,  ’tis 
little  ye’ll  have  to  eat  whin  th’  platter’s  set  down,’  I 
says.  ‘ No,’  says  I,  ‘ they’se  no  naytionality  now 
livin’  in  this  counthry  that're  nathral  bor-rn  servants,’ 
I says.  ‘ If  ye  want  to  save  throuble,’  I says,  ‘ ye’ll 
import  ye’er  help.  They’se  a race  iv  people  livin’ 
in  Cinthral  Africa  that’d  be  jus’  r-right.  They  niver 
sleep,  they  can  carry  twice  their  weight  on  their 

[31] 


SERVANT  GIRL  PROBLEM 


backs,  they  have  no  frinds,  they  wear  no  clothes, 
they  can’t  read,  they  can’t  dance  an’  they  don’t 
dhrink.  Th’  fact  is  they’re  thoroughly  oneddycated 
If  ye  cud  tache  thim  to  cook  an’  take  care  iv  chil- 
dher  they’d  be  th’  best  servants,’  says  I.  ‘ An’  what 
d’ye  call  thim  ? ’ says  he.  ‘ I f ’rget,’  says  I An’ 
he  wint  away  mad.” 

“ Sure  an’  he’s  a nice  man  to  be  talkin’  iv  ser- 
vants,” said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ He  was  a gintleman’s 
man  in  th’  ol’  counthry  an’  I used  to  know  his  wife 
whin  she  wurruked  f’r ” 

“ S-sh,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ They’re  beyond  that 
now.  Besides  they  speak  fr’m  experyence.  An’ 
mebbe  that’s  th’ throuble.  We’re  always  harder  with 
our  own  kind  thin  with  others.  ’Tis  I that’d  be  th’ 
fine  cinsor  iv  a bartinder’s  wurruk.  Th’  more  ye 
ought  to  be  a servant  ye’ersilf  th’  more  difficult  ’tis 
f’r  ye  to  get  along  with  servants.  I can  holler  to 
anny  man  fr’m  th’  top  iv  a buildin’  an’  make  him 
tur-rn  r-round,  but  if  I come  down  to  th’  sthreet 
where  he  can  see  I aint  anny  bigger  thin  he  is,  an’ 
holler  at  him,  ’tis  twinty  to  wan  if  he  tur-rns 
r-round  he’ll  hit  me  in  th’  eye.  We  have  a servant 
girl  problem  because,  Hinnissy,  it  isn’t  manny  years 
since  we  first  begun  to  have  servant  girls.  But  I 
hope  Congress’ll  take  it  up.  A smart  Congress 

[ 32  ] 


SERVANT  GIRL  PROBLEM 


like  th’  wan  we  have  now  ought  to  be  able  to  spare 
a little  time  fr’m  its  preparation  iv  new  jims  iv 
speech  f’r  th’  third  reader  an’  rig  up  a bill  that’d 
make  keepin’  house  a recreation  while  so  softenin’ 
th’  spirit  iv  th’  haughty  sign  iv  a noble  race  in  th’ 
kitchen  that  cookin’  buckwheat  cakes  on  a hot  day 
with  th’  aid  iv  a bottle  iv  smokeless  powdher’d  not 
cause  her  f’r  to  sind  a worthy  man  to  his  office  in 
slippers  an’  without  a hat.” 

“Ah,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  the  simple  democrat. 
“ It  wud  be  all  r-right  if  women’d  do  their  own 
cookin’.” 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “’Twud  be  a return 
to  Jacksonyan  simplicity,  an’  ’twud  be  a gr-reat  thing 
f’r  th’  resthrant  business.” 


THE  TR.ANSVAAL 


T looks  like  war,”  said  Mr  Hennessy, 
who  had  been  glancing  at  the  flaming 
head-lines  of  an  evening  paper  over  Mr. 
Dooley’s  shoulder. 

“ It  always  does,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ Since  th’ 
Czar  iv  Rooshia  inthrajooced  his  no-fight  risolution, 
they’se  been  no  chanst  that  they  wudden’t  be  ruc- 
tious.” 

“ An’  what’s  it  all  about  ? ” demanded  Mr. 
Hennessy.  “ I can’t  make  head  nor  tail  iv  it  at  all, 
at  all.” 

“Well  ye  see  ’tis  this  way,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“Ye  see  th’  Boers  is  a simple,  pasthral  people  that 
goes  about  their  business  in  their  own  way,  raisin’ 
hell  with  ivrybody.  They  was  bor-rn  with  an  aver- 
sion to  society  an’  whin  th’  English  come  they  lit 
out  befure  thim,  not  likin’  their  looks.  Th’  Eng- 
lish kept  cornin’  an’  the  Boers  kept  movin’  till  they 

[35] 


THE  TR.ANSVAAL 


cudden’t  move  anny  further  without  bumpin’  into 
th’  Soodanese  ar-rmy  an’  thin  they  settled  down  an’ 
says  they,  6 This  far  shall  we  go,’  says  they,  bein’  a 
rellijous  people,  ‘ an’  divvle  th’  sthep  further.’  An’ 
they  killed  off  th’  irrelijous  naygurs  an’  started  in 
f’r  to  raise  cattle.  An’  at  night  they’d  set  outside 
iv  their  dorps,  which,  Hinnissy,  is  Dutch  f’r  two- 
story  brick  house  an’  lot,  an’  sip  their  la-ager  an’ 
swap  horses  an’  match  texts  fr’m  th’  Bible  f’r  th’ 
seegars,  while  th’  childer  played  marbles  with  di- 
mons  as  big  as  th’  end  iv  ye’er  thumb. 

“Well,  th’  English  heerd  they  was  goold  be  th’ 
bucket  in  ivry  cellar  fr’m  Oopencoff  to  Doozle- 
dorf,  which,  Hinnissy,  is  like  New  York  an’  San 
Francisco,  bein’  th’  exthreme  pints  iv  th’  counthry, 
an’  they  come  on  in  gr-reat  hordes,  sturdy  Anglo- 
Saxons  fr’m  Saxony,  th’  Einsteins  an’  Heidlebacks 
an’  Werners  an’  whin  they  took  out  goold  enough 
so’s  they  needed  raycreation  they  wanted  to  vote. 
‘An’,’  says  Joe  Chamberlain,  he  says,  ‘Be  hivins, 
they  shall  vote,’  he  says.  ‘ Is  it,’  he  says,  ‘ possible 
that  at  this  stage  iv  th’  world’s  progress'  he  says, 
’an  English  gintleman  shud  be  denied,’  he  says, 
‘ th’  right  to  dhrop  off  a thrain  annywhere  in  th’  civ- 
ilized wurruld  an’  cast  his  impeeryal  vote  ? ’ he 
says.  ‘ Give  thim  th’  franchise,7  he  says,  ‘ or  be  this 

[36] 


37 


THE  TRANSVAAL 

an’  be  that ! ’ he  says,  “ f’r  we  have  put  our  hand  to 
th’  plough,  an’  we  will  not  turn  back,’  he  says. 

“ Kruger,  that’s  th’  main  guy  iv  th’  Dutch,  a fine 
man,  Hennissy,  that  looks  like  Casey’s  goat  an’  has 
manny  iv  th’  same  peculyarities,  he  says,  ‘ All 
r-right,’  he  says,  ‘ I’ll  give  thim  th’  franchise,’  he 
says.  ‘ Whin  ? ’ says  Joe  Chamberlain.  ‘ In  me 
will,’  says  Kruger.  ‘ Whin  I die,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  I 
hope  to  live  to  be  a hundherd  if  I keep  on  smokin’ 
befure  breakfast,’  he  says,  ‘ I’ll  bequeath  to  me 
frinds,  th’  English,  or  such  iv  thim  as  was  here  be- 
fure I come,  th’  inalienable  an’  sacred  right  to  de- 
mand fr’m  me  succissor  th’  privilege  iv  dietin'  an 
aldherman,’  he  says.  ‘ But,’  he  says,  ‘ in  th’  mane- 
time,’ he  says,  ‘we’ll  lave  things  the  way  they  are,’ 
he  says.  ‘ I’m  old,’  he  say,  ‘ an’  not  good-lookin’,’ 
he  says,  ‘ an’  me  clothes  dont  fit  an’  they  may  be 
marks  iv  food  on  me  vest,’  he  says,  ‘ but  I’m  not 
more  thin  half  crazy  an’  annytime  ye  find  me  givin’ 
annywan  a chanst  to  vote  me  into  a job  dhrivin’  a 
mule  an’  put  in  an  English  prisidint  iv  this  ray- 
public,’  he  says,  ‘ye  may  conclude  that  ye’er  Uncle 
Paul  needs  a guarjeen ! ’ he  says. 

“ ‘ Far  be  it  fr’m  me  to  suggist  anny  but  peace- 
ful measures,’  says  Sir  Alfred  Milner,  that’s  th’  lad 
they  have  down  in  Africa,  th’  Injun  agent,  ‘f’r  th’ 

[38] 


THE  TRANSVAAL 


English  an’  Dutch  shud  wurruk  together  like 
brothers  f’r  th’  removal  iv  th’  naygur  popylation,’ 
he  says,  ‘ but,’  he  says,  ‘ as  a brother  I politely  sug- 
gest to  ye  that  if  ye  don’t  give  us  what  we  want 
we’ll  hand  ye  a fraternal  punch  ! ’ he  says.  ‘ F’r,’ 
he  says,’  ‘we  have  put  our  hand  to  th’  plough,’  he 
says,  ‘ an’  we  cannot  turn  back,’  he  says. 

“ ‘ What  Sir  Alfred  Milner  says  is  thrue,’  says 
Lord  Lelborne,  an’  what  th’  divvle  he  has  to  do 
about  it  I dinnaw.  ‘ Th’  situation  is  such,’  he  says, 
‘ as  to  be  intol’rable  to  a silf-rayspictin’  English- 
man,’ he  says.  ‘ What  a crime,’  he  says,  ‘ that  th’ 
men  who  ar-re  takin’  most  iv  th’  money  out  iv  th’ 
counthry  shud  not  be  allowed  to  stick  in  anny  iv 
th’  votes,’  he  says.  ‘ We  have,  as  Shakespeare 
says,  put  our  hand  to  th’  plough,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  we 
cannot  turn  back,’  he  says.  ‘ I agree  corjally  with 
th’  noble  lord  on  th’  r-red  lounge  abaft  me,’  says 
Lord  Salisbury.  ‘ With  the  echoes  of  me  own 
noble  sintimints  on  th’  peace  proclamation  iv  me 
good  frind,  th’  Czar  iv  Rooshia,  still  ringin’  in  me 
ears,’  he  says,  ‘ it  wud  ill  become  me  to  speak  iv 
foorce,’  he  says.  ‘ I wud  on’y  say  that  if  th’  Trans- 
vaal raypublic  wud  rather  have  a Dum-dum  bullet 
in  its  tum-tum  thin  grant  to  Englishmen  th’  r-right 
to  run  th’  govermint,  thin  th’  Transvaal  rapublic’U 

[39] 


THE  TRANSVAAL 


have  both  ! ’ he  says.  ‘ I will  add,’  he  says,  ‘ that 
we  have  put  our  hand  to  th’  plough  an’  we  will  not 
turn  back,’  he  says. 

“Well,  sir,  ’twas  up  to  Kruger  an’  he  knocked 
th’  ashes  out  iv  his  pipe  on  his  vest  an’  says  he, 
‘ Gintlemen,’  he  says,  ‘ I wud  like  to  do  me  best  to 
accomydate  ye,’  he  says.  ‘ Nawthin’  short  iv  a se- 
vere attack  iv  sickness  wud  plaze  me  so  much  as 
to  see  long  lines  iv  Englishmen  marchin’  up  to  th’ 
polls  an’  depositin’  their  ballots  again’  me  f’r  pris- 
idint,’  he  says.  ‘ But,’  he  says,’  ‘ I’m  an  old  man ! ’ 
he  says.  ‘ I was  ilicted  young  an’  I niver  done 
annything  since,’  he  says.  ‘ I wudden’t  know  what 
to  do  without  it,’  he  says.  ‘ What  ye  propose  is  to 
make  an  ex-prisidint  iv  me.  D’ye  think  I cud 
stand  that  ? D’ye  think  at  my  age  I wud  be  con- 
tint  to  dash  fr’m  wan  justice  coort  to  another  plead- 
in’  f’r  habyas-corpus  writs  or  test  me  principles  iv 
personal  expansion  in  a Noo  Jarsey  village  ? ’ he 
says.  ‘ I’d  rather  be  a dead  prisidint  thin  a live 
ex-prisidint.  If  I have  anny  pollytical  ambition  I’d 
rather  be  a Grant  or  a Garfield  thin  a Cleveland  or 
a Harrison,’  he  says.  ‘ I may’ve  read  it  in  th’  Bible, 
though  I think  I saw  it  in  a scand’lous  book  me 
frind  Rhodes  left  in  his  bedroom  las’  time  he  called 
on  me,  that  ye  shud  niver  discard  an  ace  to  dhraw 

[4°] 


THE  TRANSVAAL 


to  a flush,’  he  says.  ‘ I deplore  th’  language  but  th’ 
sintimint  is  sound,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  I believe  ye’er 
intintions  to  presarve  peace  ar-re  honest,  but  I don’t 
like  to  see  ye  pullin’  off  ye’er  coat  an’  here  goes  f’r 
throuble  while  ye  have  ye’er  arms  in  th’  sleeves,’  he 
says.  ‘ F’r,’  he  says,  ‘ ye  have  put  ye’er  hand  in  th’ 
reaper  an’  it  cannot  turn  back,’  he  says. 

“ An’  there  they  go,  Hinnissy.  I’m  not  again 
England  in  this  thing,  Hinnissy,  an’  I’m  not  again 
th’  Boers.  Like  Mack  I’m  divided  on  a matther  iv 
principle  between  a desire  to  cemint  th’  ’lieance  an’ 
an  affiction  f’r  th’  Dutch  vote.  But  if  Kruger  had 
spint  his  life  in  a rale  raypublic  where  they  burn 
gas  he  cud’ve  settled  th’  business  without  losin’ 
sleep.  If  I was  Kruger  there’d ’ve  been  no  war.” 

“ What  wud  ye  have  done  ? ” Mr.  Hennessy 
asked. 

“ I’d  give  thim  th’  votes,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“ But,”  he  added  significantly,  “ I’d  do  th’  countin’.” 


[41] 


WAR-  AND  WAR- 
MAKER.S 


TELL  ye,  Hinnissy,”  said  Mr.  Dooley, 
“Ye  can’t  do  th’  English-speakin’ 
people.  Oursilves  an’  th’  hands  acrost 
th’  sea  ar-re  rapidly  teachin’  th’  be- 
nighted Lutheryan  an’  other  haythin  that  as  a 
race  we’re  onvincible  an’  oncatcheable.  Th’  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  meetin’s  now  going  on  in  th’  Ph’lip- 
peens  an’  South  Africa  ought  to  convince  annywan 
that  give  us  a fair  start  an’  we  can  bate  th’ 
wurruld  to  a tillygraft  office. 

“ Th’  war  our  cousins  be  Sir  Thomas  Lipton  is 
prosecutin’,  as  Hogan  says,  again’  th’  foul  but  ac- 
crate  Boers  is  doin’  more  thin  that.  It’s  givin’  us 
a common  war  lithrachoor.  I wudden’t  believe  at 
first  whin  I r-read  th’  dispatches  in  th’  pa-apers  that 
me  frind  Gin’ral  Otis  wasn’t  in  South  Africa.  It 

[43] 


WAR.  AND  WAR  MAKERS 


was  on’y  whin  I see  another  chapter  iv  his  justly 
cillybrated  seeryal  story,  intitled  ‘ Th’  Capture  iv 
Porac  ’ that  I knew  he  had  an  imitator  in  th’  mother 
counthry.  An’  be  hivins,  I like  th’  English  la-ad’s 
style  almost  as  well  as  our  own  gr-reat  artist’s. 
Mebbe  ’tis,  as  th’  pa-apers  say,  that  Otis  has  writ 
himsilf  out.  Annyhow  th’  las’  chapter  isn’t  thrillin’. 
He  says  : ‘ To-day  th’  ar-rmy  undher  my  command 

fell  upon  th’  inimy  with  gr-reat  slaughter  an’ 
seized  th’  important  town  of  Porac  which  I have 
mintioned  befure,  but,’  he  says,  ‘ we  ar-re  fortu- 
nately now  safe  in  Manila.’  Ye  see  he  doesn’t  keep 
up  th’  intherest  to  th’  end.  Th’  English  pote  does 
betther.” 

“ ‘ Las’  night  at  eight  o’clock,’  he  says,  ‘ we  found 
our  slendher  but  inthrepid  ar-rmy  surrounded  be 
wan  hundhred  thousan’  Boers,’  he  says.  ‘We 
attackted  thim  with  gr-reat  fury,’  he  says,  ‘ pursuin’ 
thim  up  th’  almost  inaccessible  mountain  side  an’ 
capturin’  eight  guns  which  we  didn’t  want  so  we 
give  thim  back  to  thim  with  siveral  iv  our  own,’  he 
says.  ‘ Th’  Irish  rig’mints,’  he  says,  ‘ th'  Kerry  Rifles, 
th’  Land  Leaguers  ’ Own,  an’  th’  Dublin  Pets,  com- 
manded be  th’  Pop’lar  Irish  sojer  Gin’ral  Sir  Pon- 
sonby  Tompkins  wint  into  battle  singin’  their  well- 
known  naytional  anthem : “ Mrs.  Innery  Awkins 

[44] 


WAR.  AND  WAR.  MAKERS 


is  a fust-class  name  ! ” Th’  Boers  retreated,’  he  says, 
‘pursued  be  th’  Davitt  Terrors  who  cut  their  way 
through  th’  fugitives  with  awful  slaughter,’  he  says. 
‘They  have  now,’  he  says,  ‘pinethrated  as  far  us 
Pretoria,’  he  says,  ‘th’  officers  arrivin’  in  first-class 
carredges  an’  th’  men  in  thrucks,’  he  -says,  ‘ an’  ar-re 
camped  in  th’  bettin’  shed  whqre  they  ar-re  afforded 
ivry  attintion  be  th’  vanquished  inimy,’  he  says. 
‘ As  f ’r  us,’  he  says,  ‘ we  decided  afther  th’  victhry  to 
light  out  f’r  Ladysmith ! ’ he  says,  ‘ Th’  inimy  had 
similar  intintions,’  he  says,  ‘but  their  skill  has  been 
vastly  overrated,’  he  says.  ‘ We  bate  thim,’  he  says 
‘we  bate  thim  be  thirty  miles,’  he  says.  That’s 
where  we’re  sthrong,  Hinnissy.  We  may  get 
licked  on  th’  battle  field,  we  may  be  climbin’  threes 
in  th’  Ph’lippeens  with  arrows  stickin’  in  us  like 
quills,  as  Hogan  says,  into  th’  fretful  porcupine  or 
we  may  be  doin’  a mile  in  five  minyits  flat  down  th’ 
pike  that  leads  to  Cape  Town  pursued  be  th’  less 
fleet  but  more  ignorant  Boers  peltin’  us  with  guns 
full  iv  goold  an’  bibles,  but  in  th’  pages  iv  histhry 
that  our  childhren  read  we  niver  turned  back  on 
e’er  an  inimy.  We  make  our  own  gloryous  pages 
on  th’  battlefield,  in  th’  camp  an’  in  th’  cab’net 
meetin’.” 

“Well,  ’t  is  all  r-right  f’r  ye  to  be  jokin’,”  said 

[45] 


WAR.  AND  WAR  MAKERS 


Mr.  Hennessy,  “ but  there’s  manny  a brave  fellow 
down  there  that  it’s  no  joke  to.” 

“ Thrue  f’r  ye,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,”  an’  that’s  why 
I wisht  it  cud  be  fixed  up  so’s  th’  men  that  starts  th’ 
wars  could  do  th’  fightin’.  Th’  throuble  is  that  all 
th’  prelimin’ries  is  arranged  be  matchmakers  an’  all 
they’se  left  f’r  fighters  is  to  do  th’  murdherin’.  A 
man’s  got  a good  job  at  home  an’  he  wants  to  make 
it  sthronger.  How  can  he  do  it  ? Be  throwin’  out 
some  one  that’s  got  an  akelly  good  job  down  th’ 
sthreet.  Now  he  don’t  go  over  as  I wud  an’  say, 
‘ Here  Schwartzmeister  (or  Kruger  as  th’  case  may 
be)  I don’t  like  ye’er  appearance,  ye  made  a mon- 
key iv  me  in  argymint  befure  th’  neighborhood  an’ 
if  ye  continyue  in  business  ye’ll  hurt  me  thrade,  so 
here  goes  to  move  ye  into  th’  sthreet ! ’ Not  that 
la-ad.  He  gets  a crowd  around  him  an’  says  he : 
‘ Kruger  (or  Schwartzmeister  as  th’  case  may  be)  is 
no  good.  To  begin  with  he’s  a Dutchman.  If  that 
ain’t  enough  he’s  a cantin’,  hymn  singin’  murdhrous 
wretch  that  wuddent  lave  wan  iv  our  counthrymen 
ate  a square  meal  if  he  had  his  way.  I’ll  give  ye  all 
two  dollars  a week  if  ye’ll  go  over  an’  desthroy  him.’ 
An’  th’  other  la-ad,  what  does  he  do  ? He  calls  in 
th’  neighbors  an’  says  he : ‘ Dooley  is  sindin’  down 
a gang  iv  savages  to  murdher  me.  Do  ye  lave 

[46] 


WAR.  AND  WAR  MAKERS 


ye’er  wurruk  an’  ye’er  families  an’  rally  ar-round 
me  an’  where  ye  see  me  plug  hat  wave  do  ye  go  in 
th’  other  direction,’  he  says,  ‘an’  slay  th’  brutal 
inimy,’  he  says.  An’  off  goes  th’  sojers  an’  they 
meet  a lot  iv  la-ads  that  looks  like  thimsilves  an’ 
makes  sounds  that’s  more  or  less  human  an’  ates 
out  iv  plates  an’  they  swap  smokin’  tobacco  an’ 
sings  songs  together  an’  th’  next  day  they’re  up 
early  jabbing  holes  in  each  other  with  baynits.  An’ 
whin  its  all  over  they’se  me  an’  Chamberlain  at 
home  victoryous  an’  Kruger  an’  Schwartzmeister 
at  home  akelly  victoryous.  An’  they  make  me 
prime  minister  or  aldherman  but  whin  I want  a 
man  to  put  in  me  coal  I don’t  take  wan  with  a 
wooden  leg. 

“ I’ll  niver  go  down  again  to  see  sojers  off  to 
th’  war.  But  ye’ll  see  me  at  th’  depot  with  a brass 
band  whin  th’  men  that  causes  wars  starts  f’r  th’ 
scene  iv  carnage.  Whin  Congress  goes  forth  to  th’ 
sun-kissed  an’  rain  jooled  isles  iv  th’  Passyfic  no 
more  heartier  cheer  will  be  beard  thin  th’  wan  or 
two  that  rises  fr’m  th’  bosom  iv  Martin  Dooley. 
Says  I,  give  thim  th’  chanst  to  make  histhry  an’ 
lave  th’  young  men  come  home  an’  make  car 
wheels.  If  Chamberlain  likes  war  so  much  ’tis  him 
that  ought  to  be  down  there  in  South  Africa  peltin’ 

[47] 


WAR.  AND  WAR  MAKERS 


over  th’  road  with  ol’  Kruger  chasin’  him  with  a 
hoe.  Th’  man  that  likes  fightin’  ought  to  be  willin’ 
to  turn  in  an’  spell  his  fellow-counthrymen  himsilf. 
An’  I’d  even  go  this  far  an’  say  that  if  Mack  wants 

to  subjoo  th’  dam  Ph’lippeens ” 

“ Ye’re  a thraitor,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ I know  it,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  complacently. 

“ Ye’re  an  anti-expansionist.” 

“ If  ye  say  that  again,”  cried  Mr.  Dooley,  angrily, 
“ I’ll  smash  in  ye’er  head.” 


[48] 


UNDERESTIMATING 
THE  ENEMY 

HAT  d’ye  think  iv  th’  war  ? ” Mr.  Hen- 
nessy  asked. 

“ I think  I want  to  go  out  an’  apolo- 
gize to  Shafter,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“ I’m  like  ivrybody  else,  be  hivins,  I thought  war 
was  like  shootin’  glass  balls.  I niver  thought  iv  th’ 
glass  balls  thrainin’  a dinnymite  gun  on  me.  ’Tis  a 
thrait  iv  us  Anglo-Saxons  that  we  look  on  an  inimy 
as  a target.  If  ye  hit  him  ye  get  three  good  see- 
gars.  We’re  like  people  that  dhreams  iv  fights. 
In  me  dhreams  I niver  lost  wan  fight.  A man  I 
niver  saw  befure  comes  up  an’  says  something  mane 
to  me,  that  I can’t  raymimber,  an’  I climb  into  him 
an’  ’tis  all  over  in  a minyit.  He  niver  hits  me,  or  if 
he  does  I don’t  feel  it.  I put  him  on  his  back  an’ 
bate  him  to  death.  An’  thin  I help  mesilf  to  his 

[49] 


UNDERESTIMATING  15he  ENEMY 


watch  an’  chain  an’  me  frinds  come  down  an’ 
say,  ‘ Martin,  ye  haven’t  a scratch,’  an’  con-grathlate 
me,  an’  I wandher  ar-roun’  th’  sthreets  with  a chip 
on  me  shoulder  till  I look  down  an’  see  that  I 
haven’t  a stitch  on  me  but  a short  shirt.  An’  thin  I 
wake  up.  Th’  list  iv  knock-outs  to  me  credit  in 
dhreams  wud  make  Fitzsimmons  feel  poor.  But 
ne’er  a wan  iv  thim  was  printed  in  th’  pa-apers. 

“’Tis  so  with  me  frinds,  th’  hands  acrost  th’  sea. 
They  wint  to  sleep  an’  had  a dhream.  An’  says 
they : ‘We  will  sind  down  to  South  Africa  thim 
gallant  throops  that  have  won  so  manny  hard- 
fought  reviews,’  they  says,  ‘captained,’  they  says, 
‘ be  th’  flower  iv  our  aristocracy,’  they  says.  ‘ An’ 
whin  th’  Boers  come  out  ar-rmed  with  rollin’  pins 
an’  bibles,’  they  says,  ‘We’ll  just  go  at  thim,’  they 
says,  ‘an’  walk  through  thim  an’  that  night  we’ll 
have  a cotillyon  at  Pretoria  to  which  all  frinds  is 
invited,’  they  says.  An’  so  they  deposit  their  intel- 
lects in  th’  bank  at  home,  an’  th’  absent-minded 
beggars  goes  out  in  thransports  iv  pathreetism  an’ 
pothry.  An’  they’se  a meetin’  iv  th’  cabinet  an’  ’tis 
decided  that  as  th’  war  will  on’y  las’  wan  week  ’twill 
be  well  f ’r  to  begin  renamin’  th’  cities  iv  th’  Thrans- 
vaal  afther  pop’lar  English  statesmen — Joechamber- 
lainville  an’  Rhodesdorp  an’  Beitfontein.  F’r  they 

[5°] 


UNDERESTIMATING  &/>e  ENEMY 


have  put  their  hands  to  th’  plough  an’  th’  sponge  is 
squeezed  dhry,  an’  th’  sands  iv  th’  glass  have  r-run 
out  an’  th’  account  is  wiped  clean. 

“ An’  what’s  th’  Boer  doin’  all  this  time  ? 
What’s  me  frind  th’  Boer  doin’.  Not  sleepin’,  Hin- 
nissy,  mind  ye.  He  hasn’t  anny  dhreams  iv  con- 
quest. But  whin  a man  with  long  whiskers  comes 
r-ridin’  up  th’  r-road  an’  says : ‘Jan  Schmidt  or  Pat 
O’Toole  or  whativer  his  name  is,  ye’re  wanted  at 
th’  front,’  he  goes  home  an’  takes  a rifle  fr’m  th’ 
wall  an’  kisses  his  wife  an’  childher  good-bye  an’  puts 
a bible  in  th’  tails  iv  his  coat  an’  a stovepipe  hat  on 
his  head  an’  thramps  away.  An’  his  wife  says: 
‘Good-bye,  Jan.  Don’t  be  long  gone  an’  don’t  get 
shooted.’  An’ he  says:  ‘Not  while  I’ve  got  a leg 
undher  me  an’  a rock  in  front  iv  me,’  he  says.  I 
tell  ye,  Hinnissy,  ye  can’t  beat  a man  that  fights  f’r 
his  home  an’  counthry  in  a stovepipe  hat.  He 
might  be  timpted  f’r  to  come  out  fr’m  cover  f’r  his 
native  land,  but  he  knows  if  he  goes  home  to  his 
wife  with  his  hat  mussed  she  won’t  like  it,  an’  so  he 
sets  behind  a rock  an’  plugs  away.  If  th’  lid  is 
knocked  off  he’s  fatally  wounded. 

“What’s  th’  raysult,  Hinnissy?  Th’  British 
marches  up  with  their  bands  playin’  an’  their  flags 
flyin’.  An’  th’  Boers  squat  behind  a bouldher  or 

[51] 


UNDERESTIMATING  T5he  ENEMY 


a three  or  set  comfortable  in  th’  bed  iv  a river 
an’  bang  away.  Their  on’y  thradition  is  that  it’s 
betther  to  be  a live  Boer  thin  a dead  hero,  which 
comes,  perhaps,  to  th’  same  thing.  They  haven’t 
been  taught  f’r  hundherds  iv  years  that  ’tis  a 
miracle  f’r  to  be  an  officer  an’  a disgrace  to  be  a 
private  sojer.  They  know  that  if  they’re  kilt  they’ll 
have  their  names  printed  in  th’  pa-apers  as  well  as 
th’  Markess  iv  Doozleberry  that’s  had  his  eyeglass 
shot  out.  But  they  ain’t  lookin’  f’r  notoriety.  All 
they  want  is  to  get  home  safe,  with  their  counthry 
free,  their  honor  protected  an’  their  hats  in  good 
ordher.  An’  so  they  hammer  away  an’  th’  inimy 
keeps  cornin’,  an’  th’  varyous  editions  iv  th’  London 
pa-apers  printed  in  this  counthry  have  standin’  a 
line  iv  type  beginnin’,  ‘ I regret  to  state.’ 

“ All  this,  Hinnissy,  comes  fr’m  dhreamin’ 
dhreams.  If  th’  British  had  said,  ‘ This  unclean  an’ 
raypeecious  people  that  we’re  against  is  also  very 
tough.  Dirty  though  they  be,  they’ll  fight.  Foul 
though  their  nature  is,  they  have  ca’tridges  in  their 
belts.  This  not  bein’  England  an’  th’  inimy  we 
have  again  us  not  bein’  our  frinds,  we  will  f’rget  th’ 
gloryous  thraditions  iv  th’  English  an’  Soudan  ar-r- 
mies  an’  instead  iv  r-rushin’  on  thim  sneak  along 
yon  kindly  fence  an’  hit  thim  on  th’  back  iv  th’ 

[ 52  ] 


UNDERESTIMATING  T5he  ENEMY 


neck,’ — they’d  be  less,  ‘ I r-regret-to-states  ’ and  more 
‘ I’m  plazed-to-reports.’  They  wud  so,  an’  I’m  a 
man  that’s  been  through  columns  an’  columns  iv 
war.  Ye’ll  find,  Hinnissy,  that  ’tis  on’y  ar-rmies 
fights  in  th’  open.  Nations  fights  behind  threes 
an’  rocks.  Ye  can  put  that  in  ye’re  little  book. 
’Tis  a sayin’  I made  as  I wint  along.” 

“We  done  th’  same  way  oursilves,”  said  Mr. 
Hennessy. 

“We  did  that,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “We  were  in 
a dhream,  too.  Th’  on’y  thing  is  th’  other  fellow 
was  in  a th  ranee.  We  woke  up  first.  An’  anny- 
how  I’m  goin’  to  apologize  to  Shafter.  He  may 
not  have  anny  medals  f ’r  standin’  up  in  range  iv  th’ 
guns  but,  be  hivins,  he  niver  dhrove  his  buckboard 
into  a river  occypied  be  th’  formerly  loathed  Cas- 
tile.” 


[53] 


THE  WAR.  EXPERT 

R.  DOOLEY  was  reading  the  war  news, 
— not  our  war  news  but  the  war  news 
we  are  interested  in — when  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy  interrupted  him  to  ask  “What’s 
a war  expert  ? ” 

“ A war  expert,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ is  a man  ye 
niver  heerd  iv  befure.  If  ye  can  think  iv  annywan 
whose  face  is  onfamilyar  to  ye  an’  ye  don’t  raymim- 
ber  his  name,  an’  he’s  got  a job  on  a pa-aper  ye 
didn’t  know  was  published,  he’s  a war  expert.  ’Tis 
a har-rd  office  to  fill.  Whin  a war  begins  th’  timp- 
tation  is  sthrong  f’r  ivry  man  to  grab  hold  iv  a gun 
an  go  to  th’  fr-ront.  But  th’  war  expert  has  to  sub- 
joo  his  cravin’  f’r  blood.  He  says  to  himsilf  ‘Lave 
others  seek  th’  luxuries  iv  life  in  camp,’  he  says. 
‘F’r  thim  th’  boat  races  acrost  th’  Tugela,  th’  romp 
over  the  kopje,  an’  th’  game  iv  laager,  laager  who’s 
got  th’  laager  ? ” he  says.  ‘ I will  stand  be  me 

[55] 


THE  WAR.  EXPERT 


counthry,’  he  says,  ‘ close,’  he  says.  ‘ If  it  falls,’  he 
says,  ‘ it  will  fall  on  me,’  he  says.  An’  he  buys 
himsilf  a map  made  be  a fortune  teller  in  a dhream, 
a box  iv  pencils  an’  a field  glass,  an’  goes  an’  looks 
f’r  a job  as  a war  expert.  Says  th’  editor  iv  th’ 
paaper:  ‘I  don’t  know  ye.  Ye  must  be  a war 

expert,’  he  says.  ‘ I am,’  says  th’  la-ad.  ‘Was  ye 
iver  in  a war  ? ’ says  th’  editor.  ‘ I’ve  been  in  naw- 
thin’  else,’  says  th’  la-ad.  ‘ Durin’  th’  Spanish- 
American  War,  I held  a good  job  as  a dhramatic 
critic  in  Dedham,  Matsachoosets,’  he  says.  ‘ Whin 
th’  bullets  flew  thickest  in  th’  Soodan  I was  spoort- 
in’  editor  iv  th’  Christyan  Advocate,’  he  says.  ‘ I 
passed  through  th’  Franco-Prooshan  War  an’  held 
me  place,  an’  whin  th’  Turks  an’  Rooshans  was  at 
each  other’s  throats,  I used  to  lay  out  th’  campaign 
ivry  day  on  a checker  board,’  he  says.  ‘War,’  he 
says,  has  no  turrors  f’r  me,’  he  says.  ‘Ye’re  th 
man  f’r  th’  money,’  says  th’  editor.  An’  he  gets  th’ 
job. 

“ Thin  th’  war  breaks  out  in  earnest.  No  matther 
how  manny  is  kilt,  annything  that  happens  befure 
th’  war  expert  gets  to  wurruk  is  on’y  what  we 
might  call  a prelimin’ ry  skirmish.  He  sets  down 
an’  bites  th’  end  iv  his  pencil  an’  looks  acrost  th’ 
sthreet  an’  watches  a man  paintin’  a sign.  Whin 

[56] 


THE  WAR.  EXPERT 


th’  man  gets  through  he  goes  to  th’  window  an’ 
waits  to  see  whether  th’  polisman  that  wint  into  th’ 
saloon  is  afther  a dhrink  or  sarvin’  a warrant.  If  he 
comes  r-right  out  ’tis  a warrant.  Thin  he  sets  back 
in  a chair  an’  figures  out  that  th’  pitchers  on  th’ 
wall  paaper  ar-re  all  alike  ivry  third  row.  Whin 
his  mind  is  thurly  tuned  up  be  these  inthricate 


problems,  he  dashes  to  his  desk  an’  writes  what  you 
an’  I read  th’  nex’  day  in  th’  paapers. 

“ Clarence  Pontoon,  th’  military  expert  iv  th’ 
London  Mornin’  Dhram,  reviewin’  Gin’ral  Buller’s 
position  on  th’  Tugela,  says:  ‘ It  is  manifest  fr’m  th’ 
dispatches  tellin’  that  Gin’ral  Buller  has  crost  th’ 
Tugela  River  that  Gin’ral  Buller  has  crost  th’ 

[57] 


THE  WAR  EXPERT 


Tugela  River.  This  we  r-read  in  spite  iv  th’  cin- 
sor.  Th’  question  is  which  side  he  has  crost  to. 
On  Friday  he  was  on  th’  north  side  in  th’  mornin’ 
an’  on  th’  south  side  at  night,  an’  in  th’  river  at 
noon.  We  heerd  nawthin’  Sathurdah  mornin’. 
Th’  presumption  is  that  they  was  nawthin’  to  hear. 
Therefore  it  is  aisy  to  imagine  Gin’ral  Buller,  findin’ 
his  position  on  th’  north  side  ontenable  an’  his 
position  on  th’  south  side  onbearable,  is  thrans- 
portin’  his  troops  up  th’  river  on  rafts  an’  is  now 
engagin’  th’  inimy  between  Spitzozone  an’  Rotten- 
fontein,  two  imminsely  sthrong  points.  All  this 
dimonsthrates  th’  footility  an’  foolishness  iv  attimp- 
tin’  to  carry  a frontal  position  agains’  large,  well-fed 
Dutchmen  with  mud  in  th’  fr-ront  iv  thim. 

“‘I  cal’clate  that  it  wud  require  thirty  millyon 
thurly  dauntless  Britions  to  ixicute  such  a manoo- 
ver,  tin  Boers  ar-rmed  with  pop  bottles  bein’  now 
considhered  th’  akel  iv  a brigade.  What  I wud 
do  if  I was  Buller,  an’  I thank  Hivin  I’m  not,  wud 
be  move  me  ar-rrny  in  half-an-hour  over  th’  high 
but  aisily  accessible  mountains  to  th’  right  iv 
Crownjoy’s  forces,  an’  takin’  off  me  shoes  so  he  cud- 
den’t  hear  thim  squeak,  creep  up  behind  th’  Dutch 
an’  lam  their  heads  olf.  Afther  this  sthroke  ’twud 
be  aisy  f’r  to  get  th’  foorces  iv  Fr-rinch,  Gatacre, 

[ 58  ] 


THE  WAR.  EXPERT 


Methoon,  an’  Winston  Churchill  together  some 
afthernoon,  invite  th’  inimy  to  a band  concert,  sur- 
round an’  massacree  thim.  This  adroit  move  cud 
be  ixicuted  if  Roberts  wud  on’y  make  use  iv  th’ 
ixicillint  bus  sarvice  between  Hokesmith  an’  Mike- 
smith.  It  is  exthraordinary  that  th’  gin’ral  on  th’ 
groun’  has  not  seen  th’  possibilities  so  apparent  at  a 
distance.’ 

“That’s  wan  kind  iv  war  expert,  Hinnissy. 
Another  kind  is  th’  wan  that  gives  it  good  to  th’ 
gover’mint.  Says  Willum  McGlue,  war  expert 
iv  th’  London  Mornin’  Growl,  who’s  supposed  to 
be  cheek  be  jowl  with  Lord  Wolseley.  ‘England’s 
greatness  is  slippin’  away.  Th’  failure  iv  th’  gov- 
er’mint to  provide  a well-equipped,  thurly  pathriotic 
ar-rmy  iv  Boers  to  carry  on  this  war  undher  th’ 
leadership  iv  gallant  Joobert  is  goin’  to  be  our 
roonation.  We  ar-re  bethrayed  be  a lazy,  effete, 
side-whiskered,  golf-playin’  gover’mint  that  wud 
rather  lose  this  fight  thin  win  it  because  they  ar-re 
tired  iv  holdin’  office.  What  can  be  said  f ’r  public 
men  so  lost  to  shame  that  they  spell  Kopje  with  a 
“ c ” an’  ar-re  sindin’  Englishmen  to  th’  ends  iv  th’ 
wurruld  to  fight  f ’r  England  ? Down  with  thim  ! ’ 

“Well  sir,  ’tis  a gr-reat  thing  f’r  a counthry  to 
have  th’  likes  iv  thim  ar-round  to  direct  manoovers 

[59] 


THE  WAR.  EXPERT 


that’d  be  gatherin’  dust  on  th’  shelf  if  th’  gin’rals 
had  their  say,  an’  to  prove  to  th’  wurruld  that  th’ 
English  ar-re  not  frivolous,  excitable  people  like  us 
an’  th’  Frinch,  but  can  take  a batin’  without  losin’ 
their  heads.” 

“ Sure,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ tis  not  thim  that 
does  th’  fightin’.  Th’  la-ads  with  th’  guns  has  that 
job.” 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “they’se  two  kinds  iv 
fightin’.  Th’  experts  wants  th’  ar-rmy  to  get  into 
Pretoria  dead  or  alive,  an’  th’  sojers  wants  to  get  in 
alive.  I’m  no  military  expert,  Hinnissy.  I’m  too 
well  known.  But  I have  me  own  opinyon  on  th’ 
war.  All  this  talk  about  th’  rapid  fire  gun  an’ 
modhren  methods  iv  warfare  makes  me  wondher. 
They’se  not  so  much  diff’rence  between  war  now 
an’  war  whin  I was  a kid,  as  they  let  on.  Th’  gun 
that  shoots  ye  best  fr’m  a distance  don’t  shoot  ye  so 
well  close  to.  A pile  iv  mud  is  a pile  iv  mud  now 
just  th’  same  as  it  was  whin  Gin’ral  Grant  was 
pokin’  ar-round.  If  th’  British  can  get  over  th’ 
mud  pile  they  win  th’  fight.  If  they  can’t  they’re 
done.  That’s  all  they’se  to  it.  Mos’  men,  sthrong- 
est  backs,  best  eyes  an’  th’  ownership  iv  th’  mud 
piles.  That’s  war,  Hinnissy.  Th’  British  have  th’ 
They’re  shy  iv  backs,  eyes  an’  mud  piles,  an’ 
[6°] 


men. 


THE  WAR  EXPERT 


they  will  be  until  they  lam  that  sheep-herdin’  an’ 
gin’ralship  ar-re  different  things,  an’  fill  up  their 
ar-rmy  with  men  that  ar-re  not  fightin’  f’r  money  or 
glory,  but  because  they  want  to  get  home  to  their 
wives  alive.” 

“Ye  talk  like  an’  ol’  book,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy, 
in  disgust.  “Ye  with  ye-re  maundhrin’  ar-re  no 
betther  thin  thim  expert  la-ads.” 

“Well  annyhow,”  said  Mr.  Dooley  thoughtfully, 
“th’  expert  is  sarvin’  a useful  purpose.  Th’  pa- 
apers  says  th’  rapid  fire  gun’ll  make  war  in  th’ 
future  impossible.  I don’t  think  that,  but  I know 
th’  expert  will.” 


[ 6 1 ] 


MODERN  EXPLOSIVES 

F iver  I wanted  to  go  to  war,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley,  “ an’  I niver  did,  th’  desire 
has  passed  fr’m  me  iv  late.  Ivry  time 
I read  iv  th’  destructive  power  iv 
modhern  explosives  col’  chills  chase  each  other  up 
an’  down  me  spine.” 

“ What’s  this  here  stuff  they  calls  lyddite  ? ” Mr. 
Hennessy  asked. 

“ Well,  ’tis  th’  divvle’s  own  med’cine,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley.  “ Compared  with  lyddite  joynt  powdher 
is  Mrs.  Winslow’s  soothin’  surup,  an’  ye  cud  lave 
th’  childher  play  base-ball  with  a can  iv  dinnymite. 
’Tis  as  sthrong  as  Gin’ral  Crownjoy’s  camp  th’  day  iv 
th’  surrinder  an’  almost  as  sthrong  as  th’  pollytics  iv 
Montana.  Th’  men  that  handles  it  is  cased  in  six 
inch  armor  an’  played  on  be  a hose  iv  ice  wather. 
Th’  gun  that  shoots  it  is  always  blown  up  be  th’ 
discharge.  Whin  this  deadly  missile  flies  through 

[63] 


MODERN  EXPLOSIVES 

th’  air,  th’  threes  ar-re  withered  an’  th’  little  bur-rds 
falls  dead  fr’m  th’  sky,  fishes  is  kilt  in  th’  rivers,  an’ 
th’  tillyphone  wires  won’t  wnrruk.  Th’  keen  eyed 
British  gunners  an’  corryspondints  watches  it  in  its 
hellish  course  an’  tur-rn  their  faces  as  it  falls  into  th’ 
Boer  trench.  An’  oh ! th’  sickly  green  fumes  it 
gives  off,  jus’  like  pizen  f’r  potato  bugs  ! There  is 
a thremenjous  explosion.  Th’  earth  is  thrown  up 
f’r  miles.  Horses,  men  an’  gun  carredges  ar-re 
landed  in  th’  British  camp  whole.  Th’  sun  is  ob- 
scured be  Boer  whiskers  turned  green.  Th’  heart 
iv  th’  corryspondint  is  made  sick  be  th’  sight,  an’ 
be  th’  thought  iv  th’  fearful  carnage  wrought  be 
this  dhread  desthroyer  in  th’  ranks  iv  th’  brave  but 
misguided  Dutchmen.  Th’  nex’  day  deserters  fr’m 
th’  Boer  ranks  reports  that  they  have  fled  fr’m  th’ 
camp,  needin’  a dhrink  an’  onable  to  stand  th’ 
scenes  iv  horror,  They  announce  that  th’  whole 
Boer  ar-rmy  is  as  green  as  wall  paper,  an’  th’  Irish 
brigade  has  sthruck  because  ye  can’t  tell  their  flag 
fr’m  th’  flag  iv  th’  r-rest  iv  th’  Dutch.  Th’  Fr-rineh 
gin’ral  in  command  iv  th’  Swedish  corps  lost  his 
complexion  an’  has  been  sint  to  th’  hospital,  an’ 
Mrs.  Gin’ral  Crownjoy’s  washin’  that  was  hangin’  on 
th’  line  whin  th’  bombardmint  comminced  is  a total 
wreck  which  no  amount  iv  bluin’  will  save.  Th’ 

[64] 


MODERN  EXPLOSIVES 


deserters  also  report  that  manny  iv  th’  Boers  ar-re 
outspannin’,  trekkin’,  loogerin’,  kopjein’  an’  veldtin’ 
home  to  be  dyed,  f’r  ’tis  not  known  whether  lyddite 
is  a fast  color  or  will  come  out  in  th’  wash. 

“ In  spite  iv  their  heavy  losses  th’  Boers  kept  up 
a fierce  fire.  They  had  no  lyddite,  but  with  their 
other  divvlish  modhern  explosives  they  wrought 
thremenjous  damage.  F’r  some  hours  shells  burst 
with  turr’ble  precision  in  th’  British  camp.  Wan 
man  who  was  good  at  figures  counted  as  manny  as 
forty-two  thousan’  eight  hundhred  an’  sivin  burstin’ 
within  a radyus  iv  wan  fut.  Ye  can  imagine  th’ 
hor-rible  carnage.  Colonel  C.  G.  F.  K.  L.  M.  N. 
O.  P.  Hetherington-Casey-Higgins  lost  his  eye-glass 
tin  times,  th’  las’  time  almost  swallowin’  it,  while 
ye’er  faithful  corryspondint  was  rindered  deaf  be 
th’  explosions.  Another  Irish  rig’mint.  has  disap- 
peared, th’  Twelve  Thousandth  an’  Eighth,  Dub- 
lin Fusiliers.  Brave  fellows,  ’tis  suspicted  they 
mistook  th’  explosion  of  lyddite  f’r  a Pathrick’s 
Day  procession  an’  wint  acrost  to  take  a look  at  it. 

“ Murdher,  but  ’tis  dhreadful  to  r-read  about. 
We  have  to  change  all  our  conciptions  iv  warfare. 
Wanst  th’  field  was  r-red,  now  ’tis  a br-right  lyddite 
green.  Wanst  a man  wint  out  an’  died  f’r  his 
counthry,  now  they  sind  him  out  an’  lyddite  dyes 

[65] 


MODERN  EXPLOSIVES 


him.  What  do  I mane?  ’Tis  a joke  I made.  I’ll 
not  explane  it  to  ye.  Ye  wudden’t  undherstand  it. 
’Tis  f’r  th’  eddycated  classes. 

“ How  they’re  iver  goin’  to  get  men  to  fight 
afther  this  I cudden’t  tell  ye.  ’Twas  bad  enough 
in  th’  ol’  days  whin  all  that  happened  to  a sojer  was 
bein’  pinithrated  be  a large  r-round  gob  iv  solder  or 
stuck  up  on  th’  end  iv  a baynit  be  a careless  inimy. 
But  now-a-days,  they  have  th’  bullet  that  whin  it 
enthers  ye  tur-rns  ar-round  like  t’n’  screw  iv  a pro- 
peller, an’  another  wan  that  ye  might  say  goes  in  be 
a key-hole  an’  comes  out  through  a window,  an’ 
another  that  has  a time  fuse  in  it  an’  it  doesn’t  come 
out  at  all  but  stays  in  ye,  an’  mebbe  twinty  years 
afther,  whin  ye’ve  f’rgot  all  about  it  an’  ar-re  settin’ 
at  home  with  ye’er  fam’ly,  bang!  away  it  goes  an’ 
ye  with  it,  carryin’  off  half  iv  th’  roof.  Thin  they 
have  guns  as  long  as  fr’m  here  to  th’  rollin’  mills 
that  fires  shells  as  big  as  a thrunk.  Th’  shells  are 
loaded  like  a docthor’s  bag  an’  have  all  kinds  iv 
things  in  thim  that  won’t  do  a bit  iv  good  to  man 
or  beast.  If  a sojer  has  a weak  back  there’s  some- 
thing in  th’  shell  that  removes  a weak  back ; if  his 
head  throubles  him,  he  can  lose  it ; if  th’  odher  iv 
vilets  is  distasteful  to  him  th’  shell  smothers  him  in 
vilet  powdher.  They  have  guns  that  anny  boy  or 

[66] 


MODERN  EXPLOSIVES 


girl  who  knows  th’  typewriter  can  wurruk,  an’  they 
have  other  guns  on  th’  music  box  plan,  that  ye 
wind  up  an’  go  away  an’  lave,  an’  they  annoy  anny 
wan  that  comes  along.  They  have  guns  that 
bounces  up  out  iv  a hole  in  th’  groun’,  fires  a mill- 
yon  shells  a minyit  an’  dhrops  back  f ’r  another  load. 
They  have  guns  that  fire  dinnymite  an’  guns  that 
fire  th’  hateful,  sickly  green  lyddite  that  makes  th’ 
inimy  look  like  fiat  money,  an’  guns  that  fire  canned 
beef  f’r  th’  inimy  an’  distimper  powdher  for  th’ 
inimy’s  horses.  An’  they  have  some  guns  that 
shoot  straight.” 

“Well,  thin,”  Mr.  Hennessy  grumbled,  “its  a 
wondher  to  me  that  with  all  thim  things  they  ain’t 
more  people  kilt.  Sure,  Gin’ral  Grant  lost  more 
men  in  wan  day  thin  th’  British  have  lost  in  four 
months,  an’  all  he  had  to  keep  tab  on  was  ol’  fash- 
ioned bullets  an’  big,  bouncin’  iron  balls.” 

“ Thrue,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ I don’t  know  th’ 
reason,  but  it  mus’  be  that  th’  betther  gun  a man  has 
th’  more  he  thrusts  th’  gun  an’  th’  less  he  thrusts 
himsilf.  He  stays  away  an’  shoots.  He  says  to 
himsilf,  he  says  : ‘ They’se  nawthin’  f’r  me  to  do,’ 

he  says,  ‘ but  load  up  me  little  lyddite  cannon  with 
th’  green  goods,’  he  says,  ‘an’  set  here  at  the  or- 
gan,’ he  says,  ‘pull  out  th’  stops  an’  paint  th’  town 

[67] 


MODERN  EXPLOSIVES 


iv  Pretoria  green,’  he  says.  ‘ But,’  he  says,  ‘ on 
sicond  thought,  suppose  th’  inimy  shud  hand  it 
back  to  me,’  he  says.  ‘’Twud  be  oncomfortable,’ 
he  says.  ‘ So,’  he  says,  ‘ I’ll  jus’  move  me  music 
back  a mile,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  peg  away,  an’  th’  longest 
gun  takes  th’  persimmons,’  he  says.  ’Tis  this  way: 
If  ye  an’  I fall  out  an’  take  rifles  to  each  other,  ’tis 
tin  to  wan  nayether  iv  us  gets  dost  enough  to  hit. 
If  we  take  pistols  th’  odds  is  rayjooced.  If  we  take 
swords  I may  get  a hack  at  ye,  but  if  we  take  a 
half-nelson  lock  ’tis  even  money  I have  ye’er  back 
broke  before  th’  polis  comes. 

“ I can  see  in  me  mind  th’  day  whin  explosives’ll 
be  so  explosive  an’  guns’ll  shoot  so  far  that  on’y  th’ 
folks  that  stay  at  home’ll  be  kilt,  an’  life  insurance 
agents’ll  be  advisin’  people  to  go  into  th’  ar-rmy.  I 
can  so.  ’Tis  thrue  what  Hogan  says  about  it.” 

“ What’s  that  ? ” Mr.  Hennessy  asked. 

“ Th’  nation,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ that  fights  with 
a couplin’  pin  extinds  its  bordhers  at  th’  cost  iv  th’ 
nation  that  fights  with  a clothes  pole.” 


[68] 


THE  BOER.  MISSION 


ELL,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “’tis  a fine 
rayciption  th’  Boer  dillygates  is  havin’ 
in  this  counthry.” 

“ They’ll  be  out  here  nex’  week,”  said 

Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ They  will  that,”  Mr.  Dooley  replied,  “ an’  we’ll 
show  thim  that  our  inthrest  in  small  raypublics 
fightin’  f’r  their  liberty  ain’t  disappeared  since  we 
become  an  impeeryal  nation.  No,  sir.  We  have 
as  much  inthrest  as  iver,  but  we  have  more  inthrests 
elsewhere. 

“ Oom  Paul,  he  says  to  th’  la-ads : ‘ Go,’  he  says, 

‘to  me  good  an’  great  frind,  Mack  th’  Wanst,  an’ 
lay  th’  case  befure  him,’ he  says.  ‘Tell  him,’  he 
says,  ‘ that  th’  situation  is  just  th’  same  as  it  was 
durin’  Wash’nton’s  time,’  he  says,  ‘on’y  Wash’nton 
won,  an’  we’re  rapidly  losin’  kopjes  till  we  soon 
won’t  have  wan  to  sthrike  a match  on,’  he  says.  An’ 

[69] 


THE  BOER.  MISSION 


off  goes  th’  good  men.  Whin  they  started  the 
Boers  was  doin’  pretty  well,  Hinnissy.  They  were 
fightin’  Englishmen,  an’  that’s  a lawn  tinnis  to  a rale 
fightin’  man.  But  afther  awhile  the  murdherin’ 
English  gover’mint  put  in  a few  recreent  but  gal- 
lant la-ads  fr’m  th’  ol’  dart — we  ought  to  be  proud 
iv  thim,  curse  thim — Pat  O’Roberts,  an’  Mike 
McKitchener,  an’  Terrence  O’Fr-rinch — an’  they 
give  th’  view-halloo  an’  wint  through  th’  Dutch  like 
a party  cornin’  home  fr’m  a fifteenth  iv  August  pic- 
nic might  go  through  a singerbund.  So  be  th’  time 
th’  dillygates  got  to  Europe  it  was : ‘ James,  if 

thim  br-rave  but  misguided  Dutch  appears,  squirt 
th’  garden  hose  on  thim.  I’ll  see  th’  British  em- 
bassadure  this  afthernoon.’  Ye  see,  Hinnissy,  ’twas 
ol’  Kruger’s  play  to  keep  on  winnin’  battles  till  th’ 
dillygates  had  their  say.  Th’  amount  iv  sympathy 
that  goes  out  f’r  a sthrugglin’  people  is  reg’lated, 
Hinnissy,  be  th’  amount  iv  sthrugglin’  th’  people  can 
do.  Th’  wurruld,  me  la-ad,  is  with  th’  undher  dog 
on’y  as  long  as  he  has  a good  hold  an’  a chanst  to 
tur-rn  over. 

“Well,  sir,  whin  th’  dillygates  see  they  cudden’t 
do  business  in  Europe,  says  they  to  thimsilves: 
‘ We’ll  pike  acrost  th’  ragin’  sea,’  they  says,  ‘ an  in 
th'  home  iv  Wash’nton,  Lincoln,  an’  Willum  J. 

[7°] 


7* 


THE  BOER  MISSION 

Bryan,  ye  bet  we’ll  have  a hearin’,’  an’  they  got 
wan.  Ivrybody’s  listenin’  to  thim.  But  no  wan  re- 
plies. If  they’d  come  here  three  months  ago,  befure 
Crownjoy  was  suffocated  out  iv  his  hole  in  th’ 
groun’,  they’d  be  smokin’  their  pipes  in  rockin’ 
chairs  on  th’  veranda  iv  th’  white  house  an’  passin’ 
th’  bucket  between  thim  an’  Mack.  But  ’tis 
diff’rent  now.  ’Tis  diff’rent  now.  Says  W ilium 
J.  Bryan : 6 1 can’t  see  thim  mesilf,  f ’r  it  may  not 

be  long  befure  I’ll  have  to  dale  with  these  inthricate 
problems,  I hope  an’  pray,  but  Congressman  Squirt- 
wather,  do  ye  disguise  ye’ersilf  as  a private  citizen 
an’  go  down  to  th’  hotel  an’  tell  these  la-ads  that  I’m 
with  thim  quietly  if  public  opinyon  justifies  it  an’ 
Mack  takes  th’  other  side.  Tell  thim  I frequently 
say  to  mesilf  that  they’re  all  r-right,  but  I wudden’t 
want  it  to  go  further.  Perhaps  they  cud  be  injooced 
to  speak  at  a dimmycratic  meetin’  unbeknown  to 
me,’  he  says. 

“ Sicrety  Hay  meets  thim  in  a coal  cellar,  wear- 
in’  a mask.  ‘ Gintlemen,’  says  he,  ‘ I can  assure  ye 
th’  prisidint  an’  mesilf  feels  mos’  deeply  f’r  ye.  I 
needn’t  tell  ye  about  mesilf,’  he  says.  ‘ Haven’t  I 
sint  me  own  son  into  ye’er  accursed  but  liberty-lovin’ 
counthry,’  he  says.  ‘ As  f’r  Mack,  I assure  ye  he’s 
hear-rtbroken  over  th’  tur-rn  affairs  have  taken,’  he 

[72] 


THE  BOER.  MISSION 


says.  ‘Early  in  th’  war  he  wrote  to  Lord  Salis- 
berry,  sayin’  he  hoped  ’twud  not  be  continyued  to 
diction  day,  an’  Salisberry  give  him  a gruff  re- 
sponse. Tur-rned  him  down,  though  both  ar-re 
Anglo-Saxons,’  he  says.  ‘ Las’  night  his  sobs  fairly 
shook  th’  white  house  as  he  thought  iv  ye  an’  ye’er 
sthruggle.  He  wants  to  tell  ye  how  much  he  thinks 
iv  ye,  an’  he’ll  meet  ye  in  th’  carredge  house  if  ye’ll 
shave  off  ye’er  whiskers  an’  go  as  clam-peddlers. 
Ye’ll  reco’nize  him  in  a green  livery.  He’ll  wear  a 
pink  carnation  in  his  buttonhole.  Give  th’  names 
iv  Dorsey  an’  Flannagan,  an’  if  th’  English  ambassa- 
dure  goes  by  get  down  on  ye’er  han’s  an’  knees  an’ 
don’t  make  a sign  till  he’s  out  iv  sight,’  he  says. 
‘ Th’  stout  party  in  blue  near  by  ’ll  be  Mark  Hanna. 
He  may  be  able  to  arrange  a raypublican  meetin’ 
f ’r  ye  to  addhress,’  he  says.  ‘ The  gr-reat  hear-rt 
iv  th’  raypublican  party  throbs  f’r  ye.  So  does 
Mack’s,’  he  says.  ‘ So  does  mine,’  he  says. 

“Well,  th’  dillygates  met  Mack  an’  they  had  a 
pleasant  chat.  ‘ Will  ye,’  says  they,  ‘ inthervene  an’ 
whistle  off  th’  dogs  iv  war  ? ’ they  says.  ‘ Whisper,’ 
says  Mack,  th’  tears  flowin’  down  his  cheeks.  ‘ Iver 
since  this  war  started  me  eyes  have  been  fixed  on 
th’  gallant  or  otherwise,  nation  or  depindancy, 
fightin’  its  brave  battle  f’r  freedom  or  rebellin’  again’ 

[73] 


THE  BOER  MISSION 


th’  sov’reign  power,  as  the  case  may  be,’  he  says. 
‘ Unofficially,  my  sympathy  has  gone  out  to  ye,  an’ 
bur-rnin’  wurruds  iv  unofficial  cheer  has  been  com- 
municated unofficially  be  me  to  me  official  fam’ly, 
not,  mind  ye,  as  an  official  iv  this  magnificent  an’ 
liberty-lovin’  raypublic,  but  as  a private  citizen,’  he 
says.  ‘I  feel,  as  a private  citizen,  that  so  long,’  he 
says,  ‘as  the  br-right  star  iv  liberty  shines  resplin- 
dent  over  our  common  counthries,  with  th’  example 
iv  Washin’ton  in  ye’er  eyes,  an’  th’  iliction  cornin’ 
on,  that  ye  must  go  forward  an’  conker  or  die,’  he 
says.  ‘An’,’  he  says,  ‘ Willum  McKinley  is  not  th’ 
man  to  put  annything  in  ye’er  way,’  he  says.  ‘ Go 
back  to  me  gr-reat  an’  good  frind  an’  tell  him 
that  th’  hear-rt  iv  th’  raypublican  party  throbs  f’r 
him,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  Sicrety  Hay’s,’  he  says,  ‘ an’ 
mine,’  he  says,  ‘ unofficially,’  he  says.  ‘ Me  official 
hear-rt,’  he  says,  ‘ is  not  permitted  be  th’  constitoo- 
tion  to  throb  durin’  wurrukin’  hours,’  he  says. 

“An’  so  it  goes.  Ivrywhere  th’  dillygates  tur-rns 
they  see  th’  sign : ‘ This  is  me  busy  day.’  An’ 

whin  they  get  back  home  they  can  tell  th’  people 
they  found  th’  United  States  exudin’  sympathy  at 
ivry  pore — ‘ marked  private.’  ” 

“Don’t  ye  think  th’  United  States  is  enthusyastic 
f’r  th’  Boers  ? ” asked  the  innocent  Hennessy. 

[74] 


THE  BOER.  MISSION 


“ It  was,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “But  in  th’  las’  few 
weeks  it’s  had  so  manny  things  to  think  iv.  Th’ 
enthusyasm  iv  this  counthry,  Hinnissy,  always 
makes  me  think  iv  a bonfire  on  an  ice-floe.  It 
burns  bright  so  long  as  ye  feed  it,  an’  it  looks  good, 
but  it  don’t  take  hold,  somehow,  on  th’  ice.” 


THE  CHINESE 
SITUATION 


ELL,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ to  think 
iv  th’  audacity  iv  thim  Chinymen ! It 
do  bate  all.” 

“ It  do  that,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ It 
bates  th’  wurruld.  An’ what’s  it  cornin’ to?  You 
an’  me  looks  at  a Chinyman  as  though  he  wasn’t 
good  f’r  annything  but  washin’  shirts,  an’  not  very 
good  at  that.  ’Tiswan  iv  th’ spoorts  iv  th’ youth 
iv  our  gr-reat  cities  to  rowl  an  impty  beer  keg 
down  th’  steps  iv  a Chinee  laundhry,  an’  if  e’er  a 
Chinyman  come  out  to  resint  it  they’d  take  him  be 
th’  pigtail  an’  do  th’  joynt  swing  with  him.  But 
th’  Chinyman  at  home’s  a diff’rent  la-ad.  He’s  with 
his  frinds  an’  they’re  manny  iv  thim  an’  he’s  rowlin’ 
th’  beer  kegs  himsilf  an’  Westhren  Civilization  is 
down  in  th’  laundhry  wondhrin’  whin  th’  police’ll 
come  along. 


[77] 


THE  CHINESE  SITUATION 

“ Th’  Lord  f’rgive  f’r  say  in’  it,  Hinnissy,  but  if  I 
was  a Chinyman,  which  I will  fight  anny  man  f’r 
sayin,’  an’  was  livin’  at  home.  I’d  tuck  me  shirt  into 
me  pants,  put  me  braid  up  in  a net,  an’  go  out  an’ 
take  a fall  out  iv  th’  in-vader  if  it  cost  me  me  life. 
Here  am  I,  Hop  Lung  Dooley,  r-runnin’  me  little 
liquor  store  an’  p’rhaps  raisin’  a family  in  th’  town 
iv  Koochoo.  I don’t  like  foreigners  there  anny 
more  thin  I do  here.  Along  comes  a bald-headed 
man  with  chin  whiskers  from  Baraboo,  Wisconsin, 
an’  says  he : ‘ Benighted  an’  haythen  Dooley,’  says 
he,  ‘ ye  have  no  God,’  he  says.  ‘ I have,’  says  I.  ‘ I 
have  a lot  iv  thim,’  says  I.  ‘Ye  ar-re  an  onculti- 
vated  an’  foul  crather,’  he  says.  ‘ I have  come 
six  thousan’  miles  f’r  to  hist  ye  fr’m  th’  mire  iv  ig- 
norance an’  irrellijon  in  which  ye  live  to  th’  lofty 
plane  iv  Baraboo,’  he  says.  An’  he  sets  down  on 
an  aisy  chair,  an’  his  wife  an’  her  friends  come  in  an’ 
they  inthrojooce  Mrs.  Dooley  to  th’  modhren  im- 
provements iv  th’  corset  an’  th’  hat  with  th’  blue 
bur-rd  onto  it,  an’  put  shame  into  her  because  she 
hasn’t  let  her  feet  grow,  while  th’  head  mission’ry 
reads  me  a pome  out  iv  th’  Northwesthren  Christ- 
yan  Advocate.  * W ell,’  says  I,  ‘ look  here,  me 
good  feUow,’  I says.  ‘ Me  an’  me  people  has  occy- 
pied  these  here  primises  f’r  manny  years,’  I says, 

[78] 


THE  CHINESE  SITUATION 


‘an’  here  we  mean  to  stay,’  I says.  ‘We’re  doin’ 
th’  best  we  can  in  th’  matther  iv  gods,’  says  I.  ‘We 
have  thim  cast  at  a first-rate  foundhry,’  I says,  ‘an’ 
we  sandpa-aper  thim  ivry  week,’  says  I.  ‘ As  f ’r 
knowin’  things,’  I says,  ‘ me  people  wrote  pomes 
with  a markin’  brush  whin  th’  likes  iv  ye  was 
r-runnin’  ar-round  wearin’  a short  pelisse  iv  sheep- 
skins an’  batin’  each  other  to  death  with  stone  ham- 
mers,’ says  I.  An’  I’m  f’r  firin’  him  out,  but  bein’ 
a quite  man  I lave  him  stay. 

“ Th’  nex’  day  in  comes  a man  with  a suit  iv 
clothes  that  looks  like  a tablecloth  in  a section 
house,  an’  says  he : ‘ Poor  ignorant  haythen,’  he 
says,  ‘ what  manner  iv  food  d’ye  ate  ? ’ he  says. 
‘Rice,’  says  I,  ‘an’  rats  is  me  fav’rite  dish,’  I says. 
‘ Deluded  wretch,’  says  he.  ‘ I riprisint  Armour 
an’  Company,  an’  I’m  here  to  make  ye  change 
ye’er  dite,’  he  says.  ‘ Hinceforth  ye’ll  ate  th’  canned 
roast  beef  iv  merry  ol’  stock  yards  or  I’ll  have  a 
file  iv  sojers  in  to  fill  ye  full  iv  ondygistible  lead,’ 
he  says.  An’  afther  him  comes  th’  man  with  Aunt 
Miranda’s  Pan  Cakes  an’  Flaked  Bran  an’  Ye’ll- 
perish-if-ye-don’t-eat-a-biscuit  an’  other  riprisinta- 
tives  iv  Westhern  Civilization,  an’  I’m  to  be  shot  if 
I don’t  take  thim  all. 

“ Thin  a la-ad  runs  down  with  a chain  an’ a small 

[79] 


THE  CHINESE  SITUATION 


glass  on  three  sticks  an’  a gang  iv  section  men 
that  answers  to  th’  name  iv  Casey,  an’  pro-ceeds  f ’r 
to  put  down  a railroad.  ‘ What’s  this  f ’r  ? ’ says  I. 
‘We  ar-re  th’  advance  guard  iv  Westhren  Civ- 
ilization,’ he  says,  ‘ an  we’re  goin’  to  give  ye  a rail- 
road so  ye  can  go  swiftly  to  places  that  ye  don’t 
want  to  see,’  he  says.  ‘ A counthry  that  has  no 
railroads  is  beneath  contimpt,’  he  says.  ‘ Casey,’ 
he  says,  ‘ sthretch  th’  chain  acrost  yon  graveyard,’  he 
says.  ‘ I aim  f’r  to  put  th’  thrack  just  befure  that 
large  tombstone  marked  Riquiescat  in  Pace,  James 
H.  Chung-a-lung,’  he  says.  ‘But,’  says  I,  ‘ye  will 
disturb  pah’s  bones,’  says  I,  ‘ if  ye  go  to  layin’  ties,’ 
I says.  ‘Ye’ll  be  mixin’  up  me  ol’  man  with  th’ 
Cassidy’s  in  th’  nex’  lot  that,’  I says,  ‘ he  niver  spoke 
to  save  in  anger  in  his  life,’  I says.  ‘Ye’re  an  an- 
cestor worshiper,  heathen,’  says  the  la-ad,  an’  he 
goes  on  to  tamp  th’  mounds  in  th’  cimitry  an  bal- 
last th’  thrack  with  th’  remains  iv  th’  deceased.  An’ 
afther  he’s  got  through  along  comes  a Fr-rinchman, 
an’  an  Englishman,  an’  a Rooshan,  an’  a Dutchman, 
an’  says  wan  iv  them  : ‘ This  is  a comfortable  look- 
in’ saloon,’  he  says.  ‘ I’ll  take  th’  bar,  ye  take  th’ 
ice-box  an’  th’  r-rest  iv  th’  fixtures.’  ‘ What  f ’r  ? ’ 
says  I.  ‘ I’ve  paid  th’  rent  an’  th’  license,’  says  I. 
‘Niver  mind,’  says  he.  ‘We’re  th’  riprisintatives 

[ 80  ] 


THE  CHINESE  SITUATION 


iv  Westhren  Civilization,’  he  says,  ‘an’  ’tis  th’ 
business  iv  Westhren  Civilization  to  cut  up  th’  be- 
longings iv  Easthren  Civilization,’  he  says.  ‘Be 
off,’  he  says,  ‘ or  I’ll  pull  ye’er  hair,’  he  says. 
‘Well,’  says  I, ‘this  thing  has  gone  far  enough,’ 
I says.  ‘ I’ve  heerd  me  good  ol’  cast-iron  gods  or 
josses  abused,’  I says,  ‘ an’  I’ve  been  packed  full  iv 
canned  goods,  an’  th’  Peking  Lightnin’  Express  is 
r-runnin’  sthraight  through  th’  lot  where  th’  bones  iv 
me  ancesthors  lies,’  I says.  “ I’ve  shtud  it  all,’  I says, 
‘ but  whin  ye  come  here  to  bounce  me  off  iv  me 
own  primises,’  I says,  ‘ I’ll  have  to  take  th’  leg  iv 
th’  chair  to  ye,’  I says.  An’  we’re  to  th’  flure. 

“That’s  th’  way  it  stands  in  Chiny,  Hinnissy,  an’ 
it  looks  to  me  as  though  Westhren  Civilization 
was  in  f’r  a bump.  I mind  wanst  whin  a dhrunk 
prize  fighter  come  up  th’  r-road  and  wint  to  sleep 
on  Slavin’s  steps.  Some  iv  th’  good  sthrong  la-ads 
happened  along  an’  they  were  near  bein’  at  blows  over 
who  shud  have  his  watch  an’  who  shud  take  his 
hat.  While  they  were  debatin’  he  woke  up  an’  be- 
gin cuttin’  loose  with  hands  an’  feet,  an’  whin  he 
got  through  he  made  a collection  iv  th’  things  they 
dhropped  in  escapin’  an’  marched  ca’mly  down  th’ 
sthreet.  Mebbe  ’twill  tur-rn  out  so  in  Chiny,  Hin- 
nissy. I see  be  th’  pa-apers  that  they’se  four  hun- 

[ 81  ] 


THE  CHINESE  SITUATION 


dherd  millyons  iv  thim  boys  an’  be  hivins!  ’twud- 
dent  surprise  me  if  whin  they  got  through  batin’  us 
at  home,  they  might  say  to  thimsilves:  ‘ Well,  here 
goes  f’r  a jaunt  ar-roun’  the  wurruld.’  Th’  time 
may  come,  Hinnissy,  whin  ye’ll  be  squirtin’  wather 
over  Hop  Lee’s  shirt  while  a man  named  Chow 
Fung  kicks  down  ye’er  sign  an’  heaves  rocks 
through  ye’er  windy.  The  time  may  come,  Hin- 
nissy. Who  knows  ? ” 

“ End  ye’er  blather,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ They 
won’t  be  anny  Chinymen  left  whin  Imp’ror  Willum 
gets  through.” 

“ Mebbe  not,”  says  Mr.  Dooley.  “ He’s  a sthrong 
man.  But  th’  Chinymen  have  been  on  earth  a long 
time,  an’  I don’t  see  how  we  can  push  so  manny  iv 
thim  off  iv  it.  Annyhow,  ’tis  a good  thing  f’r  us 
they  ain’t  Christyans  an’  haven’t  larned  properly  to 
sight  a gun.” 


[82] 


MINISTER  WU 


ELL,  sir,  me  little  Chinee  frind  Woo 
must  be  havin’  th’  time  iv  his  life  in 
Wash’nton  these  warm  days,”  said 
Mr.  Dooley. 

“ Who’s  he  ? ” asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ He’s  th’  Chinee  ministher,”  said  Mr.  Dooley, 
“ an’  his  business  is  f ’r  to  supply  fresh  hand-laun- 
dhried  misinformation  to  the  sicrety  iv  state.  Th’ 
sicrety  iv  state  is  settin’  in  his  office  feelin’  blue  be- 
cause he’s  just  heerd  be  a specyal  corryspondint  iv 
th’  London  Daily  Pail  at  Sydney,  Austhreelya,  who 
had  it  fr’m  a slatewriter  in  Duluth  that  an  ar-rmy  iv 
four  hundherd  an’  eight  thousan’  millyon  an’  sivinty- 
five  bloodthirsty  Chinee,  ar-rmed  with  flatirnes  an’ 
cryin’,  ‘ Bung  Loo  ! ’ which  means,  Hinnissy,  ‘ Kill 
th’  foreign  divvies,  dhrive  out  th’  missionries,  an’  set 
up  in  Chiny  a gover’mint  f’r  the  Chinee,’  is  march- 
in’  on  Vladivostook  in  Siberyia,  not  far  fr’m  Tinsin. 

[83] 


MINISTER  WU 

A knock  comes  at  th’  dure  an’  Woo  enthers. 
‘Well,’  says  he,  with  a happy  smile,  ‘ ’tis  all  right.’ 
‘ What’s  all  right  ? ’ says  the  sicrety  iv  state.  ‘ Ivry- 
thing,’  says  Woo.  ‘I  have  just  found  a letter  sewed 
in  a shirt  fr’m  me  frind  Lie  Much,  th’  viceroy  iv 
Bumbang.  It  is  dated  th’  fourth  hour  iv  th’  third 
day  iv  th’  eighth  or  green-cheese  moon,’  he  says. 
‘ What  day  is  that?  ’ says  the  sicrety  iv  state.  ‘ It’s 
Choosdah,  th’  fourth  iv  July ; Winsdah,  th’  eighth  iv 
October,  an’  Thursdah,  the  sivinteenth  iv  March,’  he 
says.  ‘ Pathrick’s  day,’  says  th’  sicrety  iv  state.  ‘ Thrue 
f’r  ye,’  says  Woo.  ‘What  year ? ’ says  Jawn  Hay. 
‘The  year  iv  th’  big  wind,’  says  Woo.  ‘Good,’ 
says  John  Hay,  ‘ proceed  with  ye’er  story.’  ‘ Here’s 
th’  letther,’  says  Woo.  ‘I  know  ’tis  genooyine  be- 
cause it  is  an  ol’  dhress  patthern  used  be  th’  impress. 
It  says:  ‘Oscar  Woo,  care  iv  himsilf,  anny where  : 

Dear  Woo,  brother  iv  th’  moon,  uncle  iv  th’  sun, 
an’  roommate  iv  th’  stars,  dear  sir:  Yours  iv  th’ 

eighth  day  iv  th’  property  moon  rayceived  out  iv 
th’  air  yesterdah  afthernoon  or  to-morrow,  an’  was 
glad  to  note  ye  ar-re  feelin’  well.  Ivrything  over 
here  is  th’  same  ol’  pair  iv  boots.  Nawthin’  doin’. 
Peking  is  as  quiet  as  th’  gr-rave.  Her  majesty,  th’ 
impress,  is  sufferin’  slightly  fr’m  death  be  poison, 
but  is  still  able  to  do  th’  cookin’  f’r  the  Rooshan 

L84] 


83 


MINISTER  W U 

ambassadure.  Th’  impror  was  beheaded  las’  week 
an’  feels  so  much  betther  f’r  the  op’ration  that  he 
expicts  to  be  quarthered  nex’  Sundah.  He’s  al- 
ways wanted  to  rayjooce  his  weight.  Some  iv  th’ 
Boxers  called  on  th’  foreigners  at  Tinsin  las’  week 
an’  met  a warrum  rayciption.  Th’  foreigners  afther- 
ward  paid  a visit  to  thim  through  a hole  in  th’  wall, 
an’  a jolly  day  concluded  with  a foot  race,  at  which 
our  people  are  becomin’  expert.  Some  iv  th’  boys 
expicts  to  come  up  to  Peking  nex’  week,  an’  th’ 
people  along  th’  line  iv  th’  railroad  are  gettin’  ready 
f’r  thim.  This  is  really  all  the  news  I have,  excipt 
that  cherries  ar-re  ripe.  Me  pin  is  poor,  me  ink  is 
dhry,  me  love  f’r  you  can  niver  die.  Give  me  re- 
gards to  Sicrety  Hay  whin  he  wakes  up.  I remain, 
illusthrus  cousin  iv  th’  risin’  dawn,  thruly  ye’ers,  Li. 
P.  S. — If  ye  need  anny  more  information  take  a 
longer  dhraw.’ 

“‘That,’  says  Woo,  ‘is  wan  way  iv  r-readin’  it. 
Read  upside  down  it  says  that  the  impress  has  be- 
come a Swedenboorjan.  I will  r-read  it  standin’  on 
me  head  whin  I get  home  where  I can  pin  down  me 
overskirt ; thin  I’ll  r-read  it  in  a lookin’  glass ; thin 
I’ll  saw  it  into  sthrips  an’  r-run  it  through  a wringer 
an’  lave  it  stand  in  a tub  iv  bluein’,  an’  whin  its 
properly  starched  I’ll  find  out  what  it  says.  Fin’lly 

[86] 


MINISTER  WU 

I’ll  cut  it  into  small  pieces  an’  cook  with  rice  an’ 
lave  it  to  rest  in  a cool  place,  an’  thin  ’twill  r-read 
even  betther.  I hope  ye’re  satisfied,’  he  says.  ‘ I 
am,’  says  Jawn  Hay.  4 I’ll  tillygraft  to  Mark  that 
ivrything  is  all  r-right,’  he  says,  4 an’  that  our  relations 
with  his  majesty  or  her  majesty  or  their  Boxerships 
or  th’  Down-with-th’-foreign-divvlers  or  whoiver’s 
runnin’  th’  shop  over  beyant  are  as  they  ought  to  be 
or  worse  or  betther,  as  th’  case  may  be,’  he  says. 
‘Good,’  says  Woo,  ‘ye’re  a man  afther  me  own 
heart,’  he  says.  4 I’ll  sind  ye  a little  book  wrote  be 
a frind  iv  mine  in  Peking,’  he  says.  4 ’Tis  called 
44  Heart  to  Heart  Lies  I Have  Had,”  he  says. 
‘Ye’ll  like  it,’  he  says.  ‘In  the  manetime,’  he 
says, 4 1 must  write  a secret  message  to  go  out  be 
to-night’s  hot-air  express  to  me  corryspondint  in 
Meriden,  Connecticut,  urgin’  him  to  sind  more  im- 
peeryal  edicks  iv  a fav’rable  nature,’  he  says.  4 I’ve 
on’y  had  twinty  so  far,  an’  I’m  gettin’  scrivener’s 
palsy,’  he  says.  4 But  befure  I go,’  he  says,  4 1 bet 
ye  eight  millyon  yens,  or  three  dollars  an’  eighty- 
four  cints  iv  ye’er  money,  that  ye  can’t  pick  out  th’ 
shell  this  here  pea  is  undher,’  he  says.  An’  they 
set  down  to  a game  iv  what  is  known  at  Peking 
as  diplomacy,  Hinnissy,  but  on  Randolph  sthreet 
viadock  is  called  the  double  dirty.” 

[87] 


MINISTER.  WU 


“ I don’t  believe  wan  wurrud  iv  what’s  in  th’  pa- 
apers  about  Chiny,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “if  ye  believe  anny- 
thing  ye’ll  believe  ivrything.  ’Tis  a grand  contist 
that’s  goin’  on  between  Westhren  an’  Easthren  civil- 
liezation.  ’Tis  a joke  iv  me  own,  Hinnissy,  an’  ye’d 
undherstand  it  if  ye  knew  spellin.’  Th’  Westhren 
civilization,  Hinnissy — that’s  us — is  a pretty  good 
liar,  but  he’s  a kind  iv  rough-an’-tumble  at  it.  He 
goes  in  head  down,  an’  ivry  lie  he  tells  looks  like 
all  th’  others.  Ye  niver  see  an  Englishman  that 
had  anny  judgment  in  lyin’.  Th’  corryspondint  iv 
th’  Daily  Pail  is  out  iv  his  class.  He’s  carryin’  lies 
to  Lieville.  How  in  th’  wurruld  can  we  compete 
with  a counthry  where  ivry  lab’rer’s  cottage  pro- 
jooces  lies  so  delicate  that  th’  workmen  iv  th’  West 
can’t  undherstand  thim?  We  make  our  lies  be 
machinery ; they  tur-rn  out  theirs  be  hand.  They 
imitate  th’  best  iv  our  canned  lies  to  deceive  people 
that  likes  that  kind,  but  f’r  artists  they  have  lies 
that  appeals  to  a more  refined  taste.  Sure  I’d  like 
to  live  among  thim  an’  find  out  th’  kind  iv  bouncers 
they  tell  each  other.  They  must  be  gr-rand.  I 
on’y  know  their  export  lies  now — th’  surplus  lies 
they  can’t  use  at  home.  An’  th’  kind  they  sind  out 
ar-re  betther  thin  our  best.  Our  lies  is  no  more  thin 

[88] 


MINISTER.  WU 


a conthradiction  iv  th’  thruth ; their  lies  appeals  to 
th’  since  iv  honesty  iv  anny  civilized  man.” 

“They  can’t  hurt  us  with  their  lies,”  said  Mr. 
Hennessy  of  our  Western  civilization.  “We  have 
th’  guns  an’  we’ll  bate  thim  yet.” 

“Yes,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “an’  ’twill  be  like  a 
man  who’s  had  his  house  desthroyed  be  a cyclone 
gettin’  up  an’  kickin’  at  th’  air.” 


[89] 


The  FUTURE  of  CHINA 


E th’  time  th’  Chinese  gets  through  with 
this  here  job  o’  theirs,”  said  Mr.  Dooley, 
“ they’ll  know  a thing  or  two  about  good 
manners  an’  Christyan  idees.” 

“ They  need  thim,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“They  do  so,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “An’  they’ll 
get  thim.  By  an’  by  th’  allied  foorces  will  proceed 
to  Peking.  It  may  not  be  in  ye’er  life  time  or  in 
mine,  or  in  th’  life  time  iv  th’  ministhers,  Hinnissy. 
They  ar-re  in  no  hurry.  Th’  ministhers  ar-re  as  com- 
fortable as  they  can  be  on  a dite  iv  polo  ponies  an’ 
bamboo,  an’  they  have  exercise  enough  dodgin’  can- 
non balls  to  have  no  fear  iv  indygisthion.  They’se 
no  need  of  haste.  Th’  allied  foorces  must  take  no 
step  forward  while  wan  ar-rmed  foe  survives.  It 
was  rayported  last  week  that  th’  advance  had  begun, 
but  on  sindin’  out  scouts  ’twas  discovered  that  th’ 
asphalt  road  to  th’  capital  was  not  r-ready  an’  th’ 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CHINA 


gallant  sojer  boys  was  afraid  to  risk  their  beecycles  on 
a defictive  pavement.  Thin  th’  parlor  cars  ordhered 
be  th’  Rooshan  admiral  has  not  arrived  an’  wan  iv 
th’  Frinch  gin’rals  lost  an  omelette,  or  whativer  ’tis 
they  wear  on  their  shouldhers,  an’  he  won’t  budge  till 
it  can  be  replaced  fr’m  Pahrs.  A sthrong  corps  iv 
miners  an’  sappers  has  gone  ahead  f ’r  to  lo-cate  good 
resthrants  on  th’  line  iv  march,  but  th’  weather  is 
cloudy  an’  th’  silk  umbrellys  haven’t  arrived,  an’ 
they’se  supposed  to  be  four  hundhred  millyon  Chiny- 
men  with  pinwheels  an’  Roman  candles  blockin’  th’ 
way,  so  th’  advance  has  been  postponed  indifinitely. 
Th’  American  foorces  is  r-ready  f’r  to  start  im- 
mejately,  but  they  ar-re  not  there  yet.  Th’  British 
gin’ral  is  waitin’  f’r  th’  Victorya  cross  befure  he  does 
annything,  an’  th’  Japanese  an’  th’  Rooshan  is  dan- 
cin’ up  an’  down  sayin’  ‘ Afther  you,  me  boy.’ 

“But  afther  awhile,  whin  th’  frost  is  on  th’  pump- 
kin an’  th’  corn  is  in  th’  shock,  whin  th’  roads  has 
been  repaired,  an’  ivry  gin’ral’s  lookin’  his  best,  an’ 
in  no  danger  iv  a cold  on  th’  chist,  they’ll  prance 
away.  An’  whin  they  get  to  th’  city  iv  Peking  a 
fine  cillybration  is  planned  be  th’  mission’ries.  I 
see  th’  programme  in  th’  pa-aper : First  day,  10  a.m., 
prayers  be  th’ allied  mission’ries;  l p.m.,  massacree  iv 
the  impress  an’  rile  fam’ly;  sicond  day,  10  a.m., 

[92] 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CHINA 


scatthrin’  iv  remains  iv  former  kings ; 1 1 a.m.,  dis- 
ecration  iv  graves  gin’rally ; 2 p.m.,  massacree  iv  all 
gin’rals  an’ coort  officials;  third  day,  12  noon,  burn- 
in’  iv  Peking;  foorth  day,  gran’  pop’lar  massacree 
an’  division  iv  territ’ry,  th’  cillybration  to  close  with 
a rough-an’-tumble  fight  among  th’  allies. 

“’Twill  be  a gr-reat  occasion,  Hinnissy,  an’  be- 
dad  I’d  like  to  be  there  to  see  it.  Ye  can’t  go  too 
sthrong  again’  th’  Chinee.  Me  frind  th’  impror  iv 
Germany  put  it  right.  ‘ Brave  boys,’  says  he,’  ye 
ar-re  goin’  out  now,’  he  says,  ‘f’r  to  carry  th’  light 
iv  Christyanity,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  th’  teachin’s  iv  th’ 
German  Michael,’  he  says,  ‘ to  th’  benighted  hay- 
then  beyant,’  he  says.  ‘ Me  an’  Mike  is  watchin’ 
ye’  he  says,  ‘ an’  we  ixpict  ye  to  do  ye’er  duty,’  he 
says.  ‘ Through  you,’  he  says,  ‘ I propose  to  smash 
th’  vile  Chinee  with  me  mailed  fist,’  he  says.  ‘ This 
is  no  six-ounce  glove  fight,  but  demands  a lunch- 
hook  done  up  in  eight-inch  armor  plate,’  he  says. 
‘ Whin  ye  get  among  th’  Chinee,’  he  says,  ‘ raymim- 
ber  that  ye  ar-re  the  van  guard  iv  Christyanity,’  he 
says,  ‘an’  stick  ye’er  baynet  through  ivry  hated  in- 
fidel ye  see,’  he  says.  ‘ Lave  thim  undherstand 
what  our  westhren  civilization  means,’  he  says,  ‘ an’ 
prod  thim  good  an’  hard,’  he  says.  ‘ Open  their 
heads  with  ye’er  good  German  swords  to  Eu-ropyan 

[93] 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CHINA 


culture  an’  refinement,’  he  says.  ‘Spare  no  man 
that  wears  a pigtail,’  he  says.  ‘ An,’  he  says,  ‘ me 
an’  th’  German  Michael  will  smile  on  ye  as  ye  kick 
th’  linin’  out  iv  th’  dhragon  an’  plant  on  th’  walls  iv 
Peking  th’  banner,’  he  says,  ‘ iv  th’  cross,  an’,’  he 
says,  ‘ th’  double  cross,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  if  be  chance 
ye  shud  pick  up  a little  land  be  th’  way,  don’t  lave 
e’er  a Frinchman  or  Rooshan  take  it  fr’m  ye,  or  ye’ll 
feel  me  specyal  delivery  hand  on  th’  back  iv  ye’er 
neck  in  a way  that’ll  do  ye  no  kind  iv  good.  Hock 
German  Michael,’  he  says,  ‘ hock  me  gran’father, 
hoch  th’  penny  postage  fist,’  he  says,  ‘ hock  mesilf,’ 
he  says.  An  th’  German  impror  wint  back  to  his 
bedroom  f’r  to  wurruk  on  th’  book  he’s  goin’  to 
br-ring  out  nex’  year  to  take  th’  place  iv  th’  bible. 

“ He’s  th’  boy  f’r  me  money.  Whin  th’  German 
throops  takes  their  part  in  th’  desthruction  iv  Peking 
they’ll  be  none  iv  th’  allied  foorces  ’ll  stick  deeper 
or  throw  th’  backbone  iv  th’  impress’  ol’  father  high- 
er thin  th’  la-ads  fr’m  th’  home  iv  th’  sausage.  I 
hope  th’  cillybration  ’ll  occur  on  Chris’mas  day. 
I’d  like  to  hear  th’  sojers  singin’  ‘ Gawd  r-rest  ye, 
merry  Chinnymen’  as  they  punchered  thim  with  a 
baynit.” 

“ ’Twill  be  a good  thing,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ It  will  that,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 

[94] 


THE  FUTURE  OF  CHINA 


“ ’Twill  civilize  th’  Chinnymen,”  said  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy. 

“ ’Twill  civilize  thim  stiff,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“ An’  it  may  not  be  a bad  thing  f ’r  th’  r-rest  iv  th’ 
wurruld.  Perhaps  contack  with  th’  Chinee  may  civ- 
lize  th’  Germans.” 


[95] 


PLATFORM  MAKING 


HAT  sthrikes  me  as  a gran’  platform,” 
said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “I’m  with  it  fr’m 
start  to  finish.” 

“ Sure  ye  are,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ an’ 
so  ye’d  be  if  it  begun:  ‘We  denounce  Terence 

Hinnissy  iv  th’  Sixth  Ward  iv  Chicago  as  a thraitor 
to  his  country,  an  inimy  iv  civilization,  an’  a poor 
thing.’  Ye’d  say:  ‘While  there  are  wan  or  two 

things  that  might  be  omitted,  th’  platform  as  a 
whole  is  a statesmanlike  docymint,  an’  wan  that  ap- 
peals to  th’  intelligince  iv  American  manhood.’ 
That’s  what  ye’d  say,  an’  that’s  what  all  th’  likes  iv 
ye’d  say.  An’  whin  iliction  day  comes  ’round  th’ 
on’y  question  ye’ll  ast  ye’ersilf  is:  ‘Am  I with 

Mack  or  am  I with  Billy  Bryan  ? ’ An  accordin’ly 
ye’ll  vote. 

“’Tis  always  th’  same  way,  an’  all  platforms  is 
alike.  I mind  wanst  whin  I was  an  alter-nate  to  th’ 

[97] 


PLATFORM  MAKING 


county  con-vintion — ’twas  whin  I was  a power  in 
pollytics  an’th’  on’yman  that  cud  do  annything  with 
th’  Bohemian  vote — I was  settin’  here  wan  night 
with  a pen  an’  a pot  iv  ink  befure  me,  thryin’  to 
compose  th’  platform  f’r  th’  nex’  day,  f’r  I was  a 
lithry  man  in  a way,  d’ye  mind,  an’  I knew  th’ 
la-ads’d  want  a few  crimps  put  in  th’  raypublicans 
in  a ginteel  style,  an’  ’d  be  sure  to  call  on  me  f’r  to 
do  it.  Well,  I’d  got  as  far  down  as  th’  tariff  an’ 
was  thryin’  f’r  to  express  me  opinyon  without 
swearin’,  whin  who  shud  come  in  but  Lafferty, 
that  was  sicrety  iv  McMahon,  that  was  th’  Main 
Guy  in  thim  days,  but  aftherward  thrun  down  on 
account  iv  him  mixin’  up  between  th’  Rorkes  an’ 
th’  Dorseys.  Th’  Main  Guy  Down  Town  said 
he  wudden’t  have  no  throuble  in  th’  ward,  an’  he 
declared  McMahon  out.  McMahon  had  too 
much  money  annyhow.  If  he’d  kept  on,  dollar 
bills’d  have  been  extinct  outside  iv  his  house. 
But  he  was  a sthrong  man  in  thim  days  an’  much 
liked. 

“ Anyhow,  Lafferty,  that  was  his  sicrety,  come  in, 
an’  says  he  : ‘ What  are  ye  doin’  there  ? ’ says  he. 

‘ Step  soft,’  says  I;  ‘ I am  at  wurruk,’  I says.  ‘Ye 
shudden’t  do  lithry  wurruk  on  an  empty  stomach,’ 
says  he.  ‘ I do  nawthin’  on  an  empty  stomach  but 

[98] 


PLATFORM  MAKING 


eat,’  says  I.  ‘ I’ve  had  me  supper,’  I says.  ‘ Go 
’way,’  says  I,  ‘ till  I finish  th’  platform,’  I says. 
‘ What’s  th’  platform  ? ’ says  he.  ‘ F’r  th’  county 
con-vintion,’  says  I. 

“Well,  sir,  he  set  down  on  a chair,  an’  I thought 
th’  man  was  goin’  to  die  right  there  on  the  premises 
with  laughter.  * Whin  ye  get  through  with  ye’er 
barkin’,’  says  I,  ‘ I’ll  throuble  ye  to  tell  me  what  ye 
may  be  doin’  it  f’r,’  I says.  ‘ I see  nawthin’  amusin’ 
here  but  ye’er  prisince,’  I says,  ‘ an’  that’s  not  a div- 
vle  iv  a lot  funnier  than  a wooden  leg,’  I says,  f’r  I 
was  mad.  Afther  awhile  he  come  to,  an’  says  he : 
‘Ye  don’t  raally  think,’ says  he,  ‘that  ye’ll  get  a 
chanct  to  spring  that  platform,’  he  says.  ‘ I do,’ 
says  I.  ‘ Why,’  he  says,  ‘ the  platform  has  been 
adopted,’  he  says.  ‘ Whin  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ Befure  ye 
were  born,’  says  he.  ‘ In  th’  reign  iv  Bildad  th’ 
first,’  says  he — he  was  a lamed  man,  was  Lafferty, 
though  a dhrinkin’  man.  All  sicreties  iv  politi- 
cians not  in  office  is  dhrinkin’ men,  Hinnissy.  ‘ Ive 
got  th’  copy  iv  it  here  in  me  pocket,’  he  says.  ‘ Th’ 
boss  give  it  to  me  to  bring  it  up  to  date,’  he  says. 
‘ They  was  no  sthrike  last  year  an’  we’ve  got  to  put 
a sthrike  plank  in  th’  platform  or  put  th’  prisident 
iv  th’  Lumber  Shovers’  union  on  th’  county  board, 
an’,’  he  says,  ‘ they  ain’t  room,’  he  says. 

[99] 


PLATFORM  MAKING 


“ ‘ Why,’  says  Lafferty,  ‘ ye  ought  to  know  th’ 
histhry  iv  platforms,’  he  says.  An’  he  give  it  to 
me,  an’  I’ll  give  it  to  ye.  Years  ago,  Hinnissy, 
manny  years  ago,  they  was  a race  between  th’  dim- 
mycrats  an’  th’  raypublicans  f’r  to  see  which  shud 
have  a choice  iv  principles.  Th’  dimmycrats  lost. 
I dinnaw  why.  Mebbe  they  stopped  to  take  a 
dhrink.  Annyhow,  they  lost.  Th’  raypublicans 
come  up  an’  they  choose  th’  ‘ we  commind  ’ princi- 
ples, an’  they  was  nawthin’  left  f’r  the  dimmycrats 
but  th’  ‘ we  denounce  an’  deplores.’  I dinnaw  how 
it  come  about,  but  th’  dimmycrats  didn’t  like  th’ 
way  th’  thing  shtud,  an’  so  they  fixed  it  up  between 
thim  that  whichiver  won  at  th’  iliction  shud  com- 
mind an’  congratulate,  an’  thim  that  lost  shud  de- 
nounce an’  deplore.  An’  so  it’s  been,  on’y  the  dim- 
mycrats has  had  so  little  chanct  f’r  to  do  annything 
but  denounce  an’  deplore  that  they’ve  almost  lost 
th’  use  iv  th’  other  wurruds. 

“Mack  sets  back  in  Wash’nton  an’  writes  a plat- 
form f’r  th’  comity  on  risolutions  to  compose  th’ 
week  afther.  He’s  got  a good  job — forty-nine 
ninety-two,  sixty-six  a month — an’  ’tis  up  to  him  to 
feel  good.  ‘ I- — I mean  we,’  he  says,  ‘ congratulate 
th’  counthry  on  th’  matchless  statesmanship,  on- 
shrinkin’  courage,  steady  devotion  to  duty  an’  prin- 

[ 100] 


PLATFORM  MAKING 


ciple  iv  that  gallant  an’  hon’rable  leader,  mesilf,’  he 
says  to  his  sicrety.  ‘Take  that,’ he  says,  ‘an’ elab- 
orate it,’  he  says.  ‘ Y e’ll  find  a ditchnry  on  th’  shelf 
near  the  dure,’  he  says,  ‘ if  ye  don’t  think  I’ve  put 
what  I give  ye  sthrong  enough,’  he  says.  ‘ J 
always  was,’  he  says,  ‘ too  retirin’  f ’r  me  own  good,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Spin  out  th’  r-rest,’  he  says,  ‘ to  make 
about  six  thousan’  wurruds,’  he  says,  ‘ but  be  sure 
don’t  write  annything  too  hot  about  th’  Boer  war  or 
th’  Ph’lippeens  or  Chiny,  or  th’  tariff,  or  th’  goold 
question,  or  our  relations  with  England,  or  th’  civil 
sarvice,’  he  says.  ‘ Tis  a foolish  man,’  he  says,  ‘ that 
throws  a hunk  iv  coal  fr’m  his  own  window  at  th’ 
dhriver  iv  a brick  wagon,’  he  says. 

“ But  with  Billy  Bryan  ’tis  diff ’rent.  He’s  out  in 
Lincoln,  Neebrasky,  far  fr’m  home,  an’  he  says  to 
himsilf : ‘ Me  throat  is  hoarse,  an’  I’ll  exercise  me 

other  fac’lties,’  he  says.  ‘ I’ll  write  a platform,’  he 
says.  An’  he  sets  down  to  a typewriter,  an’  de- 
nounces an’  deplores  till  th’  hired  man  blows  th’  din- 
ner horn.  Whin  he  can  denounce  an’  deplore  no 
longer  he  views  with  alarm  an’  declares  with  indig- 
nation. An’  he  sinds  it  down  to  Kansas  City,  where 
th’  cot  beds  come  fr’m.” 

“ Oh,  ye’re  always  pitchin’  into  some  wan,”  said 
Mr.  Hennessy.  “ I bet  ye  Willum  Jennings  Bryan 

[ 101  ] 


PLATFORM  MAKING 


niver  see  th’  platform  befure  it  wint  in.  He’s  too 
good  a man.” 

“ He  is  all  iv  that,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ But  ye 
bet  he  knows  th’  rale  platform  f ’r  him  is : ‘ Look 

at  th’  bad  breaks  Mack’s  made,’  an’  Mack’s  platform 
is:  ‘ Ye’d  get  worse  if  ye  had  Billy  Bryan.’  An’ 

it  depinds  on  whether  most  iv  th’  voters  ar-re  tired 
out  or  on’y  a little  tired  who’s  ilicted.  All  excipt 
you,  Hinnissy.  Ye’ll  vote  f’r Bryan?” 

“ I will,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “d’ye  know,  I sus- 
picted  ye  might.” 


[102] 


THE  YACHT  RACES 


N th’  ol’  times  whin  I was  a yachtsman — ” 
began  Mr.  Dooley. 

“ Scowman,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 
“Yachtsman,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“ Whin  I was  a yachtsman,  all  a man  needed  to 
race  was  a flat-bottomed  boat,  an  umbrella,  an’  a 
long  dhrink.  In  thim  days  ’twas  ‘Up  with  th’ 
mainsail  an’  out  with  th’  jib,  an’  Cap’n  Jawn  first 
to  th’  Lake  View  pumpin’  station  f’r  th’  see-gars.’ 
Now  ’tis  ‘ Ho,  f’r  a yacht  race.  Lave  us  go  an’  see 
our  lawyers.’  ’Tis  ‘ Haul  away  on  th’  writ  iv  ne 
exeat,’  an’  ‘ Let  go  th’  peak  capias.’  ’Tis  ‘ Pipe  all 
hands  to  th’  Supreme  Coort.’  ’Tis  ‘A  life  on  th’ 
boundin’  docket  an’  a home  on  th’  rowlin’  calendar/ 
Befure  we  die,  Sir  Lipton  ’ll  come  over  here  f’r  that 
Cup  again  an’  we’ll  bate  him  be  gettin’  out  an  over- 
night injunction.  What’s  th’  use  iv  buildin’  a boat 
that’s  lible  to  tip  an’  spill  us  all  into  th’  wet? 
Turn  th’  matther  over  to  th’  firm  iv  Wiggins, 

[ 103  ] 


THE  YACHT  RACES 


Schultz,  O’Mally,  Eckstein,  Wopoppski,  Billotti, 
Gomez,  Olson,  an’  McPherson,  an’  lave  us  have  th’ 
law  on  him. 

“ I don’t  suppose,  Hinnissy,  I ought  to  be  gettin’ 
off  me  little  jokes  on  a seeryous  matther  like  this. 
What’s  it  all  about,  says  ye“?  Well,  ye  see,  ’tis  this 
way.  Wanst  befure  th’  war  some  la-ad  fr’m  this 
counthry  took  a boat  acrost  th’  Atlantic  an’  run  it 
again  an  English  boat  an’  iv  coorse,  he  won,  not 
bein’  tied  to  th’  dock,  an’  they  give  him  a Cup.  I 
don’t  know  why  they  give  him  a cup,  but  they  give 
him  a cup.  He  brought  it  back  here  an’  handed  it 
to  a yacht  club,  which  is  an  assocyation,  Hinnissy, 
iv  mimbers  iv  th’ Bar.  He  says:  ‘Ye  keep  that 
cup  on  ye’er  mantle-piece  an’  if  e’er  an  Englishman 
wants  it,  don’t  ye  give  it  to  him.’  Afther  awhile, 
an  Englishman  that  ownded  a boat  come  afther  th’ 
cup,  an’  ’twas  lave  go  altogether,  an’  th’  las'  man  to 
th’  line  knows  what  he  is.  He’s  an  Englishman,  iv 
coorse.  That  was  all  r-right  too.  But  th’  time 
come  whin  th’  lagal  pro-fission  took  a hand  in  th’ 
game.  ‘Look  here,’  says  they.  ‘Ye’ve  vilated 
nearly  all  th’  statues  iv  th’  State  iv  Noo  Jarsey  al- 
ready,’ they  says,  ‘ an’  if  ye  ain’t  careful,  ye’ll  be 
hauled  up  f’r  contimpt  iv  coort,’  they  says.  So 
they  took  th’  matther  in  hand  an’  dhrew  up  th’ 

[ 104  ] 


THE  YACHT  RACES 


r-right  pa-apers.  ‘State  iv  Noo  York,  county  iv 
Cook,  s.  s.  Know  all  men  be  these  prisints.  To 
all  magisthrates  an’  polis  officers,  greetin’.  In  re  Sir 
Lipton  again  th’  Cup.  Ordhered  that  if  Sir  Lip- 
ton  shall  secure  said  Cup  fr’m  aforesaid  (which  he 
won’t)  he  must  build  a boat  as  follows  : Wan  hun- 
dherd  an’  twinty  chest,  fifty-four  waist,  hip  an’  side 
pockets,  carryin’  three  hundherd  an’  sixty-three 
thousan’  cubic  feet  iv  canvas;  th’  basement  iv  th’ 
boat  to  be  papered  in  green  with  yellow  flowered 
dado,  open  plumbin’,  steam  heat  throughout,  th’ 
tinant  to  pay  f’r  all  repairs.  Be  means  iv  this  in- 
fernal machine,  if  onable  to  kill  off  th’  rile  fam’ly, 
he  will  attimpt  to  cross  th’  stormy  Atlantic,  an’  if 
successful,  will  arrive  at  th’  risidince  iv  th’  party  of 
th’  first  part,  said  John  Doe.  Wanst  there,  he  will 
consult  with  mimbers  iv  th’  Noo  York  Bar  Associ- 
ation, who  will  lead  him  to  a firm  iv  competent  ex- 
pert accountants,  who  will  give  him  his  time,  which 
is  two  minyits  measured  be  th’  invarse  ratio  iv  th’ 
distance  fr’m  th’  binnacle  to  th’  cook-stove,  an’  fr’m 
th’  cook-stove,  east  be  north  to  th’  bowspirit.  He 
will  thin  take  his  foolish  boat  down  th’  bay,  an’  if 
he  keeps  his  health,  he  can  rayturn  to  th’  grocery 
business,  f’r  he’s  a jolly  good  fellow  which  nobody 
can  deny.’ 


[ 10  5] 


THE  YACHT  RACES 

“Ye  can  see  this,  Hinnissy,  that  yachtin’  has  be- 
come wan  iv  th’  larned  pro-fissions.  ’Tis  that  that 
got  th’  la-ad  fr’m  Boston  into  it.  They’s  a jolly 
Jack  Tar  f’r  ye.  In  dhrawin’  up  a lease  or  framin’ 
a bond,  no  more  gallant  sailor  rides  th’  waves  thin 
hearty  Jack  Larsen  iv  th’  Amalgamated  Copper 
Yacht  Club.  ‘What  ho?’  says  he.  ‘If  we’re 
goin’  to  have  a race,’  he  says,  ‘ shiver  me  timbers  if 
I don’t  look  up  th’  law,’  he  says.  So  he  become  a 
yachtsman.  ‘But,’  says  th’  Noo  York  la-ads,  thim 
that  has  th’  Cup  on  their  mantel-piece,  ‘Ye  can  race 
on’y  on  two  conditions.’  ‘ What  ar-re  they  ? ” says 
Larsen.  ‘ Th’  first  is  that  ye  become  a mimber  iv 
our  club.’  ‘With  pleasure,’  says  he.  ‘Ye  can’t,’ 
says  they.  ‘ An’  havin’  complied  with  this  first 
condition,  ye  must  give  us  ye’er  boat,’  says  they. 
‘ We  don’t  want  it,’  they  says.  ‘ Th’  terms  suit  me 
entirely,’  says  Cap.  Larsen.  ‘ I’m  a simple  sailor 
man  an’  I’ll  give  ye  me  boat  undher  th’  following 
conditions,’  he  says.  ‘ First,  that  ye  won’t  take  it ; 
second,  that  ye’ll  paint  me  name  on  th’  side  iv  it  in 
red  letters,  three  feet  high;  third,  that  ye’ll  inthra- 
jooce  me  to  th’ Prince  iv  Wales;  foorth,  that  I’ll 
sail  it  mesilf.  Nawthin’,’  he  says,  ‘wud  give  me 
gr-reater  pleasure  thin  to  have  me  handsome  an’  ex- 
pinsive  raft  in  th’  hands  iv  men  who  I wud  consid- 

[ 106  ] 


THE  YACHT  RACES 


her  it  an  honor  to  know,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  so,’  he 
says,  ‘ I’ll  on’y  ask  ye  to  sign  a bond  an’  lave  a 
small  security,  say  about  five  hundherd  thousan’ 
dollars,  in  me  hands  in  case  anny  paint  shud  be 
knocked  off  me  boat,”  he  says.  ‘ Yachtin’  is  a gin- 
tleman’s  spoort,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  in  dalin’  with  gintle- 
men,’  he  says,  ‘ ye  can’t  be  too  careful,’  he  says.” 

“ What’s  Sir  Lipton  doin’  all  this  time  ? ” asked 
Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ He’s  preparin’  his  bond,  makin’  his  will,  an’ 
goin’  through  th’  other  lagal  preliminaries  iv  th’ 
race.  He’s  built  a boat  too.  Th’  King  of  Eng- 
land was  aboord  iv  her,  an’  he  was  near  killed,  be 
havin’  a mast  fall  on  him.  Th’  Lord  knows  how 
he  escaped.  A mass  iv  steel  weighin’  a hundherd 
thousan’  ton  fell  on  his  Majesty  an’  bounced  off. 
Sir  Lipton  felt  pretty  bad  about  it.  He  didn’t 
mind  losin’  a mast  or  two,  but  he  didn’t  want  anny- 
wan  to  know  he  had  th’  king  aboord.  ’Twud  hurt 
business.  ‘ Boys,’  says  he  to  th’  rayporthers,  ‘ th’ 
King’s  on  me  yacht.  D’ye  hear  me?  Th’  King’s 
on  me  yacht.  But  don’t  say  annything  about  it. 
I don’t  want  to  have  it  known.  Don’t  print  it  on- 
less  ye  have  to,  an’  thin  put  it  in  an  inconspicuous 
place,  like  th’  first  page.  He’s  here  sure  enough, 
boys.  Th’  mast  just  fell  on  his  Majesty.  It  nearly 

[ ,07  ] 


THE  YACHT  RACES 


kilt  him.  I’m  not  sure  it  didn’t  kill  him.  He  re- 
mained perfectly  cool  throughout.  So  did  I.  I 
was  almost  cold.  So  did  both  iv  us.  But,  mind 
ye,  not  a wurrud  iv  this  in  th’  pa-apers.’  I don’t 
know  how  th’  rayporthers  got  hold  iv  it.  But 
they’re  a pryin’  lot.” 

“How  did  th’ mast  come  to  fall?”  asked  Mr. 
Hennessy,  eagerly.  “ D’ye  suppose  Sir  Lipton  is 
wan  iv  us  ? ” 

“ S-sh,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  adding,  softly,  “ he  was 
bor-rn  in  Limerick.” 


[108] 


O L Y G A M Y 

OW  manny  wives  has  this  here  man 
Roberts  that’s  thryin’  to  break  into  Con- 
gress?” Mr.  Dooley  asked. 

“ I dinnaw,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy ; “ I 
nivver  heerd  iv  him.” 

“I  think  it’s  three,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “No 
wondher  he  needs  wurruk  an’  is  fightin’  hard  f ’r  th’ 
job.  I’m  with  him  too,  be  hivens.  Not  that  I’m 
be  taste  or  inclination  a marryin’  man,  Hinnissy. 
They  may  get  me  to  th’  altar  some  day.  Th’  best 
iv  us  falls,  like  Cousin  George,  an’  there  ar-re  de- 
signin’ women  in  this  very  block  that  I have  me 
own  throubles  in  dodgin’.  But  anny  time  ye  hear 
iv  me  bein’  dhrawn  fr’m  th’  quite  miseries  an’  ex- 
clusive discomforts  iv  single  life  ye  may  know  that 
they  have  caught  me  asleep  an’  chloroformed  me. 
It’s  thrue.  But  f’r  thim  that  likes  it,  it’s  all  r-right, 
an’  if  a man’s  done  something  in  his  youth  that  he 

[ 109  ] 


POLYGAMY 

has  to  do  pinance  f’r  an’  th’  stations  iv  th’  cross  ain’t 
sthrong  enough,  lave  him,  says  I,  marry  as  manny 
women  as  he  wants  an’  live  with  them  an’  die  con- 
tint.  Th’  Mormons  thinks  they  ar-re  commanded 
be  the  Lord  f ’r  to  marry  all  th’  ineligeable  Swede 
women.  Now,  I don’t  believe  th’  Lord  iver  com- 
manded even  a Mormon  f’r  to  do  annything  so 
foolish,  an’  if  he  did  he  wudden’t  lave  th’  command 
written  on  a pie-plate  an’  burrid  out  there  at  Nau- 
voo,  in  Hancock  county,  Illinye.  Ye  can  bet  on 
that,  Hinnissy. 

“ But  if  anny  wan  believes  ’twas  done,  I say,  lave 
him  believe  it  an’  lave  him  clasp  to  his  bosom  as 
manny  Olesons  as  ’ll  have  him.  Sure  in  th’  prisint 
state  iv  th’  mathrimonyal  market,  as  Hogan  calls  it, 
whin  he  goes  down  to  coort  th’  rich  Widow 
O’Brien,  th’  la-ad  that  wants  to  engage  in  interprises 
iv  that  sort  ought  to  have  a frind  in  ivry  wan  but 
th’  men  that  keeps  imploymint  agencies. 

“ But  no.  Th’  minyit  a Mormon  thries  to  break 
into  a pollytical  job,  a dillygation  rises  an’  says  they : 
‘ What ! ’ they  says,  ‘ permit  this  polluted  monsther 
f’r  to  invade  th’  chaste  atmosphere,’  they  says,  ‘ iv 
th’  house  iv  riprisintatives,’  they  says.  ‘ Permit  him 
f’r  to  parade  his  fam’ly  down  Pinnsylvanya  Av’noo 
an’  block  thraffic,’  they  says.  ‘ Permit  him  mebbe 

[ 110  ] 


POLYGAMY 


to  set  in  th’  chair  wanst  occypied  be  th’  laminted 
Breckinridge,’  they  says.  An’  they  proceed  f’r  to 
hunt  th’  poor,  crowded  man.  An’  he  takes  a day 
off  to  kiss  his-  wife  fr’m  house  to  house,  an’  holds  a 
meetin’  iv  his  childher  to  bid  thim  good-by  an’ 
r-runs  to  hide  in  a cave  till  th’  dillygation  raymim- 
bers  that  they  have  husbands  iv  their  own  an’  goes 
home  to  cook  th’  supper. 

“A  Mormon,  Hinnissy,  is  a man  that  has  th’  bad 
taste  an’  th’  rellijion  to  do  what  a good  manny  other 
men  ar-re  restrained  fr’m  doin’  be  conscientious 
scruples  an’  th’  polis.  I don’t  want  anny  wife ; ye, 
Hinnissy,  ar-re  satisfied,  not  to  say  con-tint,  with 
wan ; another  la-ad  feels  that  he’d  be  lonesome  with- 
out tin.  ‘ Tis  a matther  iv  disposition.  If  iver  I 
got  started  th’  Lord  on’y  knows  where  I’d  bring  up. 
I might  be  like  me  frind  an’  fellow-sultan,  Hadji 
Mohammed.  Hadji  has  wives  to  burn,  an’  wanst 
in  awhile  he  bur-rns  wan.  He  has  a betther  job 
thin  Congressman. 

“ Th’  best  a congressman  can  get  is  foorth-class 
postmasther  an’  a look  in  at  th’  White  House  on 
visitin’  day.  But  Hadji,  th’  pop’lar  an’  iloquent 
sultan  iv  Sulu  an’  Bazeen  iv  th’  Ohio  iv  th’  Passy- 
fic,  owns  his  own  palace  an’  disthributes  his  own 
jobs.  No  man  can  hold  th’  office  iv  bow-sthringer 

[•>>] 


POLYGAMY 


iv  our  impeeryal  domain  without  a certy-ficate  fr’m 
Hadji.  From  th’  highest  office  in  th’  land  to  th’ 
lowest,  fr’m  th’  chief  pizener  to  th’  throne,  to  th’ 
humblest  ixicutioner  that  puts  a lady  in  a bag  an’ 
dumps  her  into  th’  lake  in  th’  Nine  Millionth  As- 
simbly  district  they  look  to  Hadji  Mohammed  f’r 
their  places.  He  is  th’  High  Guy,  th’  Main  Thing. 
He’s  ivrybody.  When  he  quits  wurrk  th’  govern- 
mint  is  over  f’r  th’  day.  An’  does  annywan  thry  to 
interfere  with  Hadji?  Does  annywan  say  ‘ Hadji, 
ye’ll  have  to  abandon  two  or  three  hundherd  iv  ye 
’er  firesides.  Ye  ar-re  livin’  jus’  inside  th’  left  field 
fince  iv  our  domain  an’  ’tis  a rule  iv  th’  game  that 
we’ve  taken  ye  into  that  no  wan  shall  have  more 
thin  wan  wife  at  a time  that  annywan  knows  iv. 
In’  behalf  iv  th’  comity  iv  th’  Society  f’r  th’  Sup- 
prission  iv  Poly-gamy,  I request  ye  to  discard  Nora 
an’  Eileen  an’  Mary  Ann  an’  Sue  an’  Bimbi  an’  th’ 
r-rest  iv  th’  bunch,  an’  cleave  on’v  to  Lucille.  I 

7 v 

judge  be  her  looks  that  she’s  th’  first  Missus 
Haitch.’ 

“ No,  sir.  If  he  did  he’d  reach  th’  ship  that  runs 
between  our  outlying  wards  without  a hair  to  his 
head.  Instead  iv  reproachin’  Hadji  with  his  domes- 
tic habits,  wan  iv  th’  envoys  that  ar-re  imployed  in 
carryin’  messages  fr’m  th’  prisidint  to  his  fellow-citi- 

[ 112] 


POLYGAMY 

zens,  proceeds  to  th’  pretty  little  American  village 
iv  Sulu,  where  he  finds  Hadji  settin’  up  on  a high 
chair  surrounded  be  wives.  ’Tis  a domestic  scene 
that’d  make  Brigham  Young  think  he  was  a bache- 
lor. Hadji  is  smokin’  a good  seegar  an’  occasion- 
ally histin’  a dhrink  iv  cider,  an’  wan  iv  th’  ladies  is 
playin’  a guitar,  an’  another  is  singin’  ‘ I want  ye  my 
Sulu,’  an’  another  is  makin’  a tidy,  an’  three  or  four 
hundred  more  ar-re  sewin’  patches  on  th’  pants  iv 
th’  Hadji  kids.  An’  th’  ambassadure  he  says : 
‘Mos’  rile  an’  luminous  citizen,  here  is  a copy  iv 
th’  Annual  Thanksgivin’  proclamation,’  he  says. 
‘ ’Tis  addhressed  to  all  th’  hearty  husbandmen  iv 
our  belovid  counthry,  manin’  you  among  others,’ 
he  says.  ‘An’  here,’  he  says,  ‘is  th’  revised  consti- 
tution,’ he  says.  ‘ Th’  original  wan,’  he  says,  ‘ was 
intinded  f’r  ol’  stick-in-th’-muds  that  wudden’t 
know  th’  difference  between  a harem  an’  a hoe,’  he 
says.  ‘ This  wan,’  he  says,  ‘ is  more  suited  f’r  th’ 
prisint  gay  an’  expansive  times,’  he  says.  It  permits 
a man  ‘To  cleave  to  as  manny  wives,’  he  says,  ‘as 
his  race,  color,  an’  prevyous  condition  iv  servitude 
will  permit,’  he  says.  ‘ Thank  ye  kindly,’  says 
Hadji,  ‘ I’ll  threasure  these  here  papers  as  a vally- 
able  meminto  fr’m  that  far  distant  home  iv  mine 
which  I have  niver  see,’  he  says.  ‘ I’d  inthrojooce 

[ “3] 


POLYGAMY 

ye  to  Mrs.  Hadji  wan  by  wan,’  he  says,  ‘ but  ’twud 
be  betther,’  he  says,  ‘f’r  to  stand  up  here  an’  be 
prisinted  to  her  as  a whole,’  he  says,  ‘ f’r,’  he  says, 
‘ ’tis  growing  late  an’  I want  ye  to  come  up  to  th’ 
house,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  pick  a mission’ry  with  me,’  he 
says.  ‘A  Baptist,’  he  says,  ‘raised  on  th’  farm,’ 
he  says.  An’  Hadji  holds  his  job  an’  looks  for’rard 
to  th’  day  whin  we’ll  have  female  suffrage  an’  he 
can  cast  th’  solid  vote  iv  Sulu  for  himsilf  f’r  prisi- 
dent.” 

“ Thin,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ ye’er  frind  Roberts 
ought  to  move  to  what-d’ye-call-th’  place.” 

“ That’s  what  I’m  thinkin’,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“ But  ’tis  too  bad  f’r  him  he  was  bor-rn  at  home.” 


[H4] 


PUBLIC  FICKLENESS 


R.  DOOLEY  put  his  paper  aside  and 
pushed  his  spectacles  up  on  his  fore- 
head. “ Well,”  he  said,  “ I suppose, 
afther  all,  we’re  th’  mos’  lively  nation  in 
th’  wurruld.  It  doesn’t  seem  many  months  ago 
since  ye,  Hinnissy,  was  down  at  th’  depot  cheerin’ 
th’  departin’  heroes ” 

“ I niver  was,”  said  Mr.  Hennessey.  “ I stayed 
at  home.” 

“ Since  ye  was  down  cheerin’  th’  departin’  heroes,” 
Mr.  Dooley  continued,  “an’  thryin’  to  collect  what 
they  owed  ye.  Th’  papers  was  full  iv  news  iv  th’ 
war.  Private  Jawn  Thomas  Bozoom  iv  Woon- 
socket, a mimber  iv  th’  gallant  an’  devoted  Wan 
Hundhred  an’  Eighth  Rhode  Island,  accidentally 
slipped  on  a orange  peel  while  attimptin’  to  lave  th’ 
recruitin’  office  an’  sustained  manny  con-tu-sions. 

[115] 


PUBLIC  FICKLENESS 


He  rayfused  to  be  taken  home  an’  insisted  on  jinin’ 
his  rig’mint  at  th’  rayciption  in  th’  fair  groun’s. 
Gallant  Private  Bozoom ! That’s  th’  stuff  that 
American  heroes  ar-re  made  iv.  Ye  find  thim  at 
th’  forge  an’  at  th’  plough,  an’  dhrivin’  sthreet  cars,  an’ 
ridin’  in  th’  same.  The  favored  few  has  th’  chanst 
to  face  th’  bullets  iv  th’  inimy.  ’Tis  f’r  these  un- 
known pathrites  to  prove  that  a man  can  sarve  his 
counthry  at  home  as  well  as  abroad.  Private  Bo- 
zoom will  not  be  f’rgot  be  his  fellow-counthrymen. 
A rayciption  has  been  arranged  f’r  him  at  th’  Woon- 
socket op’ry-house,  an’  ’tis  said  if  he  will  accipt  it, 
th’  vote  iv  th’  State  iv  Rhode  Island’ll  be  cast  f’r 
him  f’r  prisidint.  ’Tis  at  such  times  as  this  that  we 
reflict  that  th’  wurruld  has  wurruk  f’r  men  to  do, 
an’  mere  politicians  mus’  retire  to  th’  rear. 

“ That  was  a few  months  ago.  Where’s  Bozoom 
now?  If  iver  ye  go  to  Woonsocket,  Hinnissy, 
which  Gawd  f’rbid,  ye’ll  find  him  behind  th’  coun- 
ther  iv  th’  grocery  store  ladlin’  out  rutabaga  turnips 
into  a brown  paper  cornucopy  an’  glad  to  be  alive. 
An’  ’tis  tin  to  wan,  an’  more  thin  that,  that  th’  town 
humorist  has  named  him  th’  orange-peel  hero,  an’ 
he’ll  go  to  his  grave  with  that  name.  Th’  war  is 
over  an’  th’  state  iv  war  exists.  If  ye  saw  a man  fall 
fr’m  th’  top  iv  a tin-story  buildin’  ’twud  startle  ye, 

[n6] 


PUBLIC  FICKLENESS 


wanst.  If  it  happened  again,  ’twud  surprise  ye. 
But  if  ye  saw  a man  fall  ivry  fifteen  minyits  ye’d  go 
home  afther  awhile  f’r  supper  an’  ye  wuddent  even 
mintion  it  to  ye’er  wife. 

“ I don’t  know  how  manny  heroes  they  ar-re  in 
th’  Philippeens.  Down  there  a man  is  ayether  a 
sojer  or  a casualty.  Bein’  a casualty  is  no  good.  I 


cud  say  about  a man : ‘ He  was  a hero  in  th’  war 
with  Spain,’  but  how  can  I say : ‘ Shake  hands  with 
Bill  Grady,  wan  iv  th’  ladin’  casualties  iv  our  late 
war  % ’ ’Twud  be  no  more  thin  to  say  he  was 
wan  iv  th’  gallant  men  that  voted  f’r  prisidint  in 
1896. 

“ No,  Hinnissy,  people  wants  novelties  in  war. 
Th’war  fashions  iv  1898  is  out  iv  style.  They  ar-re 

[ >17] 


PUBLIC  FICKLENESS 


too  full  in  th’  waist  an’  too  long  in  th’  skirt.  Th’ 
style  has  changed.  There  ar-re  fifty  thousand  back- 
ward men  in  th’  fair  isles  iv  th’  Passyfic  fightin’  to 
free  th’  Philippeen  fr’m  himsilf  an’  becomin’  a casu- 
alty in  th’  operation,  but  no  one  is  charterin’  ar-rmy 
hospital  ships  f’r  thim. 

“No  one  is  convartin’ anny  steam  yachts  f’r  thim. 
No  wan  is  sindin’  eighty  tons  iv  plum  puddin’  to 
complete  th’  wurruk  iv  destruction.  They  ar-re  in 
a war  that’d  make  th’  British  throops  in  Africa  think 
they  were  drillin’  f’r  a prize  banner.  But  ’tis  an  on- 
fashionable  war.  ’Tis  an  ol’  war  made  over  fr’m 
garments  formerly  worn  be  heroes.  Whin  a man 
is  out  in  th’  counthry  with  wan  newspaper  an’  has 
read  th’  authentic  dispatches  fr’m  Ladysmith  an’ 
Harrismith  an’  Willumaldensmith  an’  Mysterious- 
billysmith  an’  the  meetin’  iv  th’  czar  iv  Rooshia 
with  th’  Impror  Willum  an’  th’  fire  in  th’  packin’ 
house  an’  th’  report  iv  th’  canal  thrustees  an’  th’ 
fightin’  news  an’  th’  want  ads,  an’  afther  he  has 
r-read  thim  over  twinty  times  he  looks  at  his  watch 
an’  says  he,  ‘ Holy  smoke,  ’tis  two  hours  to  thrain 
time  an’  I suppose  I’ll  have  to  r-read  th’  news  fr’m 
th’  Philippeens.’  War,  be  hivins,  is  so  common 
that  I believe  if  we  was  to  take  on  a fight  with  all 
th’  wurruld  not  more  thin  half  th’  popylation  iv 

[ n8] 


PUBLIC  FICKLENESS 


New  England’d  die  iv  hear-rt  disease  befure  they 
got  into  th’  cellars.” 

“ Th’  new  style  iv  war  is  made  in  London  an’  all 
our  set  is  simply  stuck  on  it.  Th’  casualties  in  th’ 
Philippeens  can  walk  home,  but  is  it  possible  that 
many  thrue  an’  well-dhressed  American  can  stand  to 
see  th’  signs  iv  th’  ancient  British  aristocracy  taken 
care  iv  be  their  own  gover’mint  ? ‘ What,’  says 

Lady  what’s-her-name  (her  that  was  th’  daughter  iv 
wan  iv  our  bravest  an’  best  racontoors).  ‘ What.’ 
she  says,  ‘ will  anny  American  woman  residin’  in 
London  see  men  shot  down,’  she  says,  ‘ that  has  but 
recently  played  polo  in  our  very  sight,’  she  says,  ‘ an’ 
be  brought  home  in  mere  thransports,’  she  says. 
‘ Ladies,’  she  says,  ‘ lave  us  equip  a hospital  ship,’ 
she  says.  ‘ I thrust,’  she  says,  ‘ that  all  iv  us  has 
been  long  enough  fr’m  home  to  f’rget  our  despica- 
ble domestic  struggles,’  she  says,  ‘ an’  think  on’y  iv 
humanity,’  she  says.  An’  whin  she  opens  up  th’ 
shop  f’r  subscriptions  ye’d  think  fr’m  th’  crowd  that 
’twas  th’  first  night  iv  th’  horse  show.  I don’t  know 
what  Lem  Stiggins  iv  Kansas,  marked  down  in  th’ 
roll,  Private  in  th’  Twintieth  Kansas,  Severely,  I 
don’t  know  what  Private  Severely  thinks  iv  it. 
An’  I wuddent  like  to  know  till  afther  Thanks- 
givin’.” 


["9] 


PUBLIC  FICKLENESS 


“Don’t  be  blatherin’,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “Sure 
ye  can’t  ixpict  people  to  be  inthrested  f’river  in  a 
first  performance.” 

“ No,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ but  whin  th’  audjeence 
gives  th’  comp’ny  an  encore  it  ought  at  laste  to  pre- 
tind  that  it’s  not  lavin’  f’r  th’  other  show.” 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 


F th’  Presidint  doesn’t  step  in  an’  inter- 
fere,” said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “they’ll  be 
bloodshed  in  Kentucky.” 

“What  business  is  it  iv  Mack’s?” 
Mr.  Dooley  protested.  “ Th’  war’s  in  this  counthry, 
man  alive ! If  ’twas  in  Boolgahria  or  Chiny  or  on 
th’  head  waters  iv  th’  Bozoon  river  in  th’  sooltynate 
iv — iv — I dinnaw  what — thin  ’twud  be  th’  jooty  iv 
our  gover’mint  f ’r  to  resolve  that  th’  inthrests  iv  hu- 
manity an’  civilization  an’  th’  advancement  iv  th’ 
human  kind  required  that  we  shud  step  in  an’  put  a 
head  on  wan  or  both  iv  th’  parties.  But  they’se  no 
reason  now,  me  boy,  f ’r  us  to  do  annything,  f ’r  these 
are  our  own  people,  an’  ’tis  wan  iv  their  rights,  un- 
dher  th’  martial  law  that’s  th’  foundation  iv  our  insti- 
tutions, to  bate  each  other  to  death  whiniver  an’ 
whereiver  they  plaze.  ’Twud  be  all  r-right  f’r  the 
Impror  Willum  to  come  in  an’  take  a hand,  but 

[ »2!  ] 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 


Gawd  help  him  if  he  did,  or  th’  Prisidint  iv  th’ 
Fr-rinch  or  th’  Impror  iv  Chiny.  ’Twud  be  all 
r-right  f ’r  thim.  An’  though  we  might  meet  thim 
at  th’  dure  an’  hand  thim  wan  f’r  their  impydince, 
we’d  be  in  th’  wrong.  ’Twud  be  a good  job  f’r 
Aggynaldoo,  too,  if  he  cud  find  himsilf  an’  had  th’ 
time.  It  must  be  clear  to  him  be  what  news  he 
hears  whin  th’  other  pilgrim  father,  Sinitor  Hoar, 
calls  on  him  in  th’  three  where  he  makes  his  home, 
that  what  Kentucky  needs  now  is  wan  an’  on’y  wan 
stable  govermint  an’  a little  public  peace.  He 
might  restore  peace  at  home  an’  abroad  be  cuttin’ 
in,  but  th’  poor  la-ad  has  other  things  to  think  iv. 
I’d  like  to  see  him.  It  must  be  near  a year  since  he 
had  a shave  or  a hair  cut,  barrin’  ridges  made  be 
bullets  as  he  cleared  th’  fences.” 

“ It  looks  to  me  as  though  th’  raypublican  is 
wr-rong,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  with  the  judicial  man- 
ner of  a man  without  prejudices. 

“ Iv  coorse  he’s  wrong,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ He 
starts  wrong.  An’  th’  dimmycrats  ar-re  r-right. 
They’re  always  r-right.  ’Tis  their  position.  Th’ 
dimmycrats  ar-re  right  an’  the  raypublicans  has  th’ 
jobs.  It  all  come  up  because  our  vinerated  party, 
Hinnissy,  ain’t  quick  at  th’  count.  Man  an’  boy 
I’ve  taken  an  intherest  in  politics  all  me  life,  an’  I 

[ 122  ] 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 

find  th’  on’y  way  to  win  an  diction  is  to  begin  f ’r  to 
count  th’  minyit  ye’ve  completed  th’  preliminaries  iv 
closin’  th’  polls  an’  killin’  th’  other  judges  an’  clerks. 

“ Th’  dimmycrats  counted,  but  th’  count  come  too 
late.  Be  th’  time  th’  apparent  an’  hidjous  majority 


iv  th’  raypublicans  was  rayjooced  to  nawthin’  an’  a 
good  liberal,  substantial,  legal  an’  riotous  dimmy- 
cratic  majority  put  in  its  place  be  ordher  iv  th’ 
coorts,  th’  commonwealth  iv  Kentucky  an’  Jack 
Chinn,  th’  raypublican  has  been  so  long  in  th’ job 
an’  has  become  so  wedded  to  it  that  ye  cuddent 
shake  him  out  with  a can  iv  joynt  powdher.  It 
seems  to  him  that  there  niver  was  a time  whin  he 
wasn’t  gov’nor. 


[ 123] 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 


“ Th’  dimmycrats  get  together  an’  call  on  that 
learned  an’  incorruptible  joodishary  that’s  done  so 
much  to  ilivate  the  party  into  high  office,  an’  whin 
th’  dure  iv  th’  saloon  is  locked  they  say  ‘ Bill,’  they 
say,  ‘ we’re  bein’  robbed  iv  our  suffrage,’  says  they. 
‘ Th’  hated  enimy  has  stolen  th’  ballot  an’  thrampled 
on  th’  r-rights  iv  th’  citizens,’  says  they,  ‘ in  the 
southern  part  iv  th’  state  faster  thin  we  cud  undo 
their  hellish  wurruk  in  our  own  counties,’  they  says. 
‘ They  now  hoi’  th’  jobs,’  they  say,  ‘ an’  if  they  stay 
in  they’se  no  more  chanst  iv  iver  dietin'  a dimmy- 
crat  again  thin  there  wud  be  iv  dietin'  a raypubli- 
can  if  we  got  in,’  they  say.  ‘ Do  ye  mix  us  up  a 
replevy  writ  an’  we’ll  go  over  an’  haul  th’  chair  fr’m 
undher  thim,’  they  say. 

“ So  th’  judge  passes  out  a replevy  writ  be  vartue 
iv  th’  thrust  that’s  been  reposed  in  him  be  th’  com- 
ity and  gives  it  to  Colonel  Jack  Chinn,  wan  iv  th’ 
leaders  iv  th’  Kentucky  bar,  f’r  to  serve.  An’ 
Colonel  Jack  Chinn  ar-rms  himsilf  as  becomes  a 
riprisintative  iv  a gr-reat  coort  goin’  to  sarve  a 
sacred  writ  iv  replevy  on  th’  usurper  to  th’  loftiest 
or  wan  iv  th’  loftiest  jobs  that  th’  people  iv  a glo- 
ryous  state  can  donate  to  a citizen.  He  sthraps  on 
three  gatlin’  guns,  four  revolvers,  two  swords,  a 
rifle,  a shot  gun,  a baseball  bat,  a hand  grenade  (to 

4] 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 

be  used  on’y  in  case  iv  thirst),  a pair  iv  handcuffs, 
brass  knuckles,  a sandbag,  a piece  of  lead  pipe  in  a 
stockin’,  a rabbit’s  foot  f’r  luck,  a stove  lid  an’  a can 
iv  dinnymite,  an’  with  siveral  iv  his  cillybrated 
knives  behind  his  ears,  in  his  hair,  between  his 
teeth,  an’  gleamin’  fr’m  his  pockets,  he  sallies  forth 
on  his  sacred  mission,  an’  gives  th’  writ  to  a clerk 
to  sarve,  an’  stays  in  town  himsilf,  where  he  suc- 
cessfully resists  all  charges  iv  th’  bartinder.  Th’ 
clerk  goes  up  to  th’  state  house,  where  th’  gov’nor 
is  ixicutin’  th’  high  thrust  reposed  in  him  be  him- 
silf, behind  breastworks  an’  guarded  be  some  iv 
th’  most  desp’rate  an’  pathriotic  ruffyans  in  th’  state. 
‘ What  have  ye  there  ? ’ says  his  ixcillincy,  with  his 
hand  on  th’  sthring  iv  a dinnymite  gun.  ‘ A writ 
fr’m  th’  coort  bouncin’  ye  fr’m  ye’er  high  office,’ 
says  th’  clerk.  ‘ As  a law  abidin’  citizen,’  says  his 
ixcillincy,  ‘an’  an  official  enthrusted  be  th’  people 
iv  this  glad  state  with  th’  exicution  iv  th’  statutes 
I bow  to  th’  law,’  he  says.  ‘ But,’  he  says,  ‘ I’ll  be 
hanged  if  I’ll  bow  to  th’  decree  iv  anny  low  browed 
pussillanimous  dimmycratic  coort,’  he  says,  ‘ So- 
jers,’  he  says,  ‘ seize  this  disturber  iv  th’  peace  an’ 
stick  him  in  th’  cellar.  Jawn,’  he  says,  ‘ar-rm  ye’er- 
silf  an’  proceed  to  th’  raypublican  timple  iv  justice 
in  Hogan’s  saloon  an’  have  th’  stanch  an’  upright 

[ 125  ] 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 

Judge  Blood  prepare  some  good  honest  writs  iv 
th’  party  iv  Lincoln  an’  Grant,’  he  says.  ‘ In  th’ 
manetime,  as  th’  constitootion  has  lost  its  sights  an’ 
the  cylinder  don’t  revolve,’  he  says,  ‘ I suspind  it 
an’  proclaim  martial  law,’  he  says.  ‘ I want  a law,’ 
he  says,  ‘ that  mesilf  an’  all  other  good  citizens  can 
rayspict,’  he  says.  ‘ I want  wan,’  he  says,  ‘ that’s 
been  made  undher  me  own  personal  supervision,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Hand-made,  copper  distilled,  wan  hun- 
dherd  an’  tin  proof  martial  law  ought  to  be  good 
enough  for  anny  Kentuckyan,’  he  says.  So  th’ 
next  ye  hear  th’  sojers  ar-re  chasin’  th’  coorts  out  iv 
th’  state,  th’  legislature  is  meetin’  in  Duluth,  Pin- 
sacola,  an’  Bangor,  Maine,  an’  a comity  iv  citizens 
consistin’  iv  some  iv  the  best  gun  fighters  iv  th’ 
state  ar-re  meetin’  to  decide  how  th’  conthroversay 
can  be  decided  without  loss  iv  blood  or  jobs. 
While  they’re  in  session  th’  gov’nor  is  in  contimpt 
iv  coort,  the  coorts  ar-re  in  contimpt  iv  th’  gov’nor, 
an’  if  annybody  but  Tiddy  Rosenfelt  has  anny  other 
feelin’  f’r  ayether  iv  thim  I haven’t  heerd  him 
speak.” 

“ They  ought  to  fire  out  the  raypublican,”  said 
Mr.  Hennessy.  “ Sure  ’tis  cornin’  to  a nice  state  iv 
affairs  whin  th’  likes  iv  him  can  defy  the  coorts.” 

“ Thrue  f’r  ye,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ But  I don’t 
[126] 


KENTUCKY  POLITICS 


like  th’  looks  iv  it  fr’m  our  side  iv  th’  house. 
Whiniver  a dimmycrat  has  to  go  to  coort  to  win 
an  iliction  I get  suspicious.  They’se  something 
wr-rong  in  Kentucky,  Hinnissy.  We  were  too 
slow.  Th’  inimy  got  th’  first  cheat.” 


F 1 27  ] 


YOUNG  ORATORY 


HEY’SE  wan  thing  that  this  counthry 
ought  to  be  thankful  f’r,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley,  laying  down  his  paper,  “an’ 
that  is  that  we  still  have  a lot  iv  young 
an’  growin’  orators  f’r  to  lead  us  on.” 

“Who’s  been  oratin’  now?”  Mr.  Hennessy 
asked. 

“ Me  young  frind  Sinitor  Beveridge,  th’  child  or- 
ator iv  Fall  Creek.  This  engagin’  an’  hopeful  la-ad 
first  made  an  impression  with  his  eloquince  at  th’ 
age  iv  wan  whin  he  addhressed  a meetin’  iv  th’  Tip- 
pecanoe club  on  th’  issues  iv  th’  day.  At  th’  age 
iv  eight  he  was  illicted  to  th’  United  States  Sinit, 
rayjoocin’  th’  average  age  iv  that  body  to  ninety- 
three  years.  In  th’  sinit,  bein’  a modest  child,  he 
rayfused  to  speak  f’r  five  minyits,  but  was  fin’lly 
injooced  f’r  to  make  a few  thousan’  remarks  on 
wan  iv  th’  subjects  now  much  discussed  by  orators 

[ 129  ] 


YOUNG  ORATORY 

whin  th’  dures  ar-re  closed  an’  th’  fire  escapes 
broken. 

“ His  subject  was  th’  Ph’lippeens,  an’  he  said  he’d 
just  come  fr’m  there.  ‘ I have  cruised,’  he  says,  ‘ f ’r 
two  thousan’  miles  through  th’  Ar-rchey  Pelago — 
that’s  a funny  name — ivry  minyit  a surprise  an’  de- 
light to  those  that  see  me,’  he  says.  ‘ I see  corn 
growin’  on  banana  threes ; I see  th’  gloryous  heights 
iv  Ding  Dong  that  ar-re  irradyatin’  civilization  like 
quills  upon  th’  fretful  porcypine,’  he  says.  ‘ I see 
rice,  coffee,  rolls,  cocoanuts,  choice  seegars,  oats, 
hay,  hard  and  soft  coal,  an’  Gen’ral  Otis — an’  there’s 
a man  that  I rayspict,’  he  says.  ‘ I see  flowers 
bloomin’  that  was  superyor  to  anny  conservatory  in 
Poolasky  county,’  he  says.  ‘ I see  th’  low  and  vi- 
cious inhabitants  iv  th’  counthry  soon,  I thrust,  to 
be  me  fellow-citizens,  an’  as  I set  there  an’  watched 
th’  sea  rollin’  up  its  uncounted  millyons  iv  feet  iv 
blue  wather,  an’  th’  stars  sparklin’  like  lamp-posts 
we  pass  in  th’  night,  as  I see  th’  mountains  raisin’ 
their  snow-capped  heads  f’r  to  salute  th’  sun,  while 
their  feet  extinded  almost  to  th’  place  where  I shtud ; 
whin  I see  all  th’  glories  iv  that  almost,  I may  say, 
thropical  clime,  an’  thought  what  a good  place  this 
wud  be  f’r  to  ship  base-burnin’  parlor  stoves,  an’ 
men’s  shirtings  to  th’  accursed  natives  iv  neighborin’ 

[ 130] 


YOUNG  ORATORY 


Chiny,  I says  to  mesilf,  ‘ This  is  no  mere  man’s 
wurruk.  A Higher  Power  even  than  Mack,  much 
as  I rayspict  him,  is  in  this  here  job.  We  cannot 
pause,  we  cannot  hesitate,  we  cannot  delay,  we  can- 
not even  stop!  We  must,  in  other  wurruds,  go  on 
with  a holy  purpose  in  our  hearts,  th’  flag  over  our 


heads  an’  th’  inspired  wurruds  iv  A.  Jeremiah  Bev- 
eridge in  our  ears,’  he  says.  An’  he  set  down. 

“Well,  sir,  ’twas  a gr-reat  speech.  ’Twas  a 
speech  ye  cud  waltz  to.  Even  younger  men  thin 
Sinitor  Beveridge  had  niver  made  grander  orations. 
Th’  throuble  is  th’  sinit  is  too  common  f ’ r such  mag- 
nificent sintimints ; its  too  common  an’  its  too  old. 
Th’  young  la-ad  comes  fr’m  home,  where’s  he’s  par- 

[ 131  ] 


YOUNG  ORATORY 


alyzed  th’  Lithry  Society  an’  th’  Debatin’  Club,  an’ 
he  loads  himsilf  up  with  a speech  an’  he  says  to 
himsilf : ‘ Whin  I begin  peggin’  ar-round  a few  iv 

these  vilets  I’ll  make  Ol’  Hoar  look  like  confederate 
money,’  an’  th’  pa-apers  tell  that  th’  Infant  Demos- 
theens  iv  Barry’s  Junction  is  about  f’r  to  revive  th’ 
oratorical  thraditions  iv  th’  sinit  an’  th’  fire  depart- 
ment comes  up  f’r  a week,  an’  wets  down  th’  capitol 
buildin’.  Th’  speech  comes  off,  they  ain’t  a dhry 
eye  in  th’  House,  an’  th’  pa-apers  say : ‘ Where’s 

ye’er  Dan’l  Webster  an’  ye’er  Champ  Clark,  now  ? ’ 
An’  th’  young  man  goes  away  an’  has  his  pitchers 
took  on  a kinetoscope.  He  has  a nice  time  while  it 
lasts,  Hinnissy,  but  it  don’t  las’  long.  It  don’t  las’ 
long.  Th’  la-ad  has  th’  wind,  but  it’s  endurance 
that  counts. 

“ Th’  wise  ol’  boys  with  their  long  whiskers  dis- 
cusses him  over  th’  sivin-up  game,  an’  says  wan  iv 
thim : ‘ What  ye  think  iv  th’  kid’s  speech  ? ’ ‘ ’T was 
a good  speech,’  says  th’  other.  ‘ It  carries  me  back  to 
me  own  boyhood  days.  I made  a speech  just  like 
that  durin’  th’  Mexican  War.  Oh,  thim  days,  thim 
days ! I lead  th’  ace,  Mike.’  An’  afther  awhile  th’ 
Boy  Demostheens  larns  that  while  he’s  polishin’  off 
his  ipigrams,  an’  ol’  guy,  that  spinds  all  his  time 
sleepin’  on  a bench,  is  polishin’  him  off.  Th’  man 

[ *32  ] 


YOUNG  ORATORY 


that  sinds  seeds  to  his  constitooents  lasts  longer  thin 
th’  wan  that  sinds  thim  flowers  iv  iloquence,  an* 
though  th’  hand  iv  Gawd  may  be  in  th’  Ph’lippeen 
question,  it  hasn’t  interfered  up  to  date  in  th’  ser- 
geant-at-arms  question.  An’  whin  th’  young  man 
sees  this  he  says,  ‘sky,’  whin  he  means  ‘sky’  an’ 
not  ‘ th’  jooled  canopy  iv  hiven,’  an’  he  says,  ‘Ph’lip- 
peens,’  an’  not  ‘ th’  gloryous  isles  iv  th’  Passyfic,’  an’ 
bein’  onto  th’  character  iv  his  fellow-sinitors,  he 
mintions  nobody  higher  in  their  prisence  thin  th’ 
steward  iv  th’  capitol.  An’  he  niver  makes  a speech 
but  whin  he  wants  to  smoke,  an’  thin  he  moves  that 
th’  sinit  go  into  executive  session.  Thin  he’s  a rale 
sinitor.  I’ve  seen  it  manny’s  th’  time — th’  boy  ora- 
tor goin’  into  th’  sinit,  an’  cornin’  out  a deef  mute. 
I’ve  seen  a man  that  made  speeches  that  was  set  to 
music  an’  played  be  a silver  cornet  band  in  Ioway 
that  hadn’t  been  in  Congress  f ’r  a month  befure  he 
wudden’t  speak  above  a whisper  or  more  thin  an 
inch  fr’m  ye’er  ear.” 

“Do  ye  think  Hiven  sint  us  to  th’  Ph’lippeens? ” 
Mr.  Hennessy  asked. 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ th’  divvle 
take  thim.” 


[ '33l 


PUBLIC  GRATITUDE 


HIS  man  Dewey — began  Mr.  Doo- 
ley. 

“ I thought  he  was  ye’er  cousin 
George,”  Mr.  Hennessy  interrupted. 

“ I thought  he  was,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ but  on 
lookin’  closer  at  his  features  an’  r-readin’  what  th’ 
pa-apers  says  about  him,  I am  convinced  that  I was 
wrong.  Oh,  he  may  be  a sicond  cousin  iv  me 
Aunt  Judy.  I’ll  not  say  he  ain’t.  There  was  a 
poor  lot,  all  iv  them.  But  I have  no  close  rilitives 
in  this  counthry.  ’Tis  a way  I have  of  savin’  a 
little  money.  I’m  like  th’  good  an’  gr-rateful 
American  people.  Th’  further  ye  stay  away  fr’m 
thim  th’  more  they  like  ye.  Sicond-cousin-iv-me 
Aunt-Judy-George  made  a mistake  cornin’  home, 
or  if  he  did  come  home  he  ought’ve  invistigated 
his  welcome  and  see  that  it  wasn’t  mined.  A 
man  cud  stand  up  all  day  an’  lave  Packy  Mount- 

[ 13S] 


PUBLIC  GRATITUDE 


joy  whale  away  at  him,  but  th’  affiction  iv  th’ 
American  people  is  always  aimed  thrue  an’  is  in- 
varyably  fatal. 

“ Th’  la-ad  Dougherty  was  in  to-day,  an’  he 
exprissed  th’  feelin’s  iv  this  grateful  raypublic. 
He  says,  says  he,  ‘ This  fellow  Dewey  ain’t  what 
I thought  he  was,’  he  says.  ‘ I thought  he  was 
a good,  broad,  lib’ral  man,  an’  it  turns  out  he’s  a 
cheap  skate,’ he  says.  ‘We  made  too  much  fuss 
over  him,’  he  says.  ‘ To  think,’  he  says,  ‘ iv  him 
takin’  th’  house  we  give  him  an’  tur-rnin’  it  over  to 
his  wife,’  he  says.  ‘ ’Tis  scand’lous,’  he  says.  ‘ How 
much  did  ye  con-thribute ? ’ says  I.  ‘I  didn’t  give 
annything,’  he  says  ‘The  collector  didn’t  come 
around,  an’  I’m  glad  now  I hung  on  to  me  coin,’  he 
says.  ‘ Well,’  says  I,  ‘ I apprechate  ye’er  feelin’s,’  I 
says.  ‘ Ye  agree  with  th’  other  subscribers,’  I says. 
‘ But  I’ve  med  up  me  mind  not  to  lave  annywan 
talk  to  me  about  Dewey,’  I says,  ‘ unless,’  I says, 
‘he  subscribed  th’  maximum  amount  iv  th’  sub- 
scription,’ I says,  ‘thirty-eight  cints,’  I says.  ‘So 
I’ll  thank  ye  to  tip-toe  out,’  I says,  ‘ befure  I give  ye 
a correct  imitation  iv  Dewey  an’  Mountjoy  at  th’ 
battle  of  Manila,’  I says.  An’  he  wint  away. 

“ Th’  throuble  with  Dewey  is  he  was  so  long 
away  he  lost  his  undherstanding  iv  th’  thrue  feelin’ 

[136] 


PUBLIC  GRATITUDE 


iv  th’  American  people.  George  r-read  th’  news- 
papers, an’  he  says  to  himself:  ‘Be  hivins,  they 
think  well  iv  what  I done.  I guess  I’ll  put  a shirt 
in  me  thrunk  an’  go  home,  f’r  ’tis  hot  out  here,  an’ 
ivrybody’ll  be  glad  f’r  to  see  me,’  he  says.  An’  he 
come  along,  an’  New  York  was  r-ready  f’r  him. 
Th’  business  in  neckties  had  been  poor  that  summer, 
an’  they  was  necessity  f’r  pullin’  it  together,  an’  they 
give  George  a welcome  an’  invited  his  admirers 
fr’m  th’  counthry  to  come  in  an’  buy  something 
f’r  th’  little  wans  at  home.  An’  he  r-rode  up  Fifth 
Avnoo  between  smilin’  rows  iv  hotels  an’  dhrug 
stores,  an’  tin-dollar  boxes  an’  fifty-cint  seats  an’  he 
says  to  himsilf : ‘ Holy  smoke,  if  Aggynaldoo  cud 
on’y  see  me  now.’  An’  he  was  proud  an’  happy, 
an’  he  says  : ‘ Raypublics  ar-re  not  always  ongrate- 
ful.’  An’  they  ain’t.  On’y  whin  they  give  ye  much 
gratichood  ye  want  to  freeze  some  iv  it,  or  it  won’t 
keep. 

“ ’Tis  unsafe  f’r  anny  man  alive  to  receive  th’ 
kind  wurruds  that  ought  to  be  said  on’y  iv  th’  dead. 
As  long  as  George  was  a lithograph  iv  himsilf  in 
a saloon  window  he  was  all  r-right.  Whin  people 
saw  he  cud  set  in  a city  hall  hack  without  flowers 
growin’  in  it  an’  they  cud  look  at  him  without 
smoked  glasses  they  begin  to  weaken  in  their 

[ '37] 


PUBLIC  GRATITUDE 


devotion.  ’Twud’ve  been  th’  same,  almost,  if  he’d 
married  a Presbyteeryan  an’  hadn’t  deeded  his  house 
to  his  wife.  ‘ Dewey  don’t  look  much  like  a hero,’ 
says  wan  man.  ‘ I shud  say  not,’  says  another. 
‘ He  looks  like  annybody  else.’  ‘ He  ain’t  a hero,’ 
says  another.  ‘ Why,  annybody  cud’ve  done  what 
he  did.  I got  an  eight-year-old  boy,  an’  if  he  cud- 
den’t  take  a baseball  club  an’  go  in  an’  bate  that 
Spanish  fleet  into  junk  in  twinty  minyits  I’d  call 
him  Alger  an’  thrade  him  off  f’r  a bicycle,’  he  says. 
‘ I guess  that’s  r-right.  They  say  he  was  a purty 
tough  man  befure  he  left  Wash’n’ton.’  ‘Sure  he 
was.  Why,  so-an’-so-an’-so-an’-so.’  ‘ Ye  don’t  tell 
me  ! ’ ‘Is  there  annything  in  that  story  about  his 
beatin’  his  poor  ol’  aunt  an’  her  iliven  childher  out 
iv  four  dollars ? ’ ‘I  guess  that’s  straight.  Ye  can 
tell  be  th’  looks  iv  him  he’s  a mean  man.  I niver 
see  a man  with  squintin’  eyes  an’  white  hair  that 
wudden’t  rob  a church ! ’ ‘ He’s  a cow’rd,  too. 

Why,  he  r-run  away  at  th’  battle  iv  Manila.  Iv- 
rybody  knows  it.  I r-read  what  Joe  What’s-His- 
Name  wrote — th’  br-rave  corryspondint.  He  says 
this  feller  was  sick  at  his  stummick  an’  retired  be- 
fure th’  Spanish  fire.  Why,  what’d  he  have  to  fight 
but  a lot  iv  ol’  row-boats  ? A good  swimmer  with 
sharp  teeth  cud’ve  bit  his  way  through  th’  whole 

['381 


PUBLIC  GRATITUDE 


Spanish  fleet.  An’  he  r-run  away.  I tell  ye,  it 
makes  me  tired  to  think  iv  th’  way  we  abused  th’ 
Spanyards  not  long  ago.  Why,  say,  they  done  a 
lot  betther  thin  this  fellow  Dewey,  with  his  forty  or 
fifty  men-iv-war  an’  this  gran’  nation,  miles  away, 
standin’  shoulder  to  shoulder  at  his  back.  They 
niver  tur-rned  over  their  property  to  their  wives.’ 
‘ Y es,’  says  wan  man,  ‘ Dewey  was  a cow’rd.  Let’s 
go  an’  stone  his  house.’  ‘ No,’  says  the  crowd,  ‘ he 
might  come  out.  Let’s  go  down  to  th’  v’riety  show 
an’  hiss  his  pitcher  in  th’  kinetoscope.’  Well!  ’ ” 

“Well  what?”  demanded  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“Well,”  Mr.  Dooley  continued,  “I  was  on’y 
goin’  to  say,  Hinnissy,  that  in  spite  iv  me  hathred 
iv  George  as  a man — a marrid  man — an’  me  con- 
timpt  f’r  his  qualities  as  a fighter,  in  spite  iv  th’ 
chickens  he  has  stole  an’  the  notes  he  has  forged  an’ 
th’  homes  he  has  rooned,  if  he  was  to  come  r-runnin’ 
up  Archey  road,  as  he  might,  pursooed  be  ladies 
an’  gintlemen  an’  th’  palajeem  iv  our  liberties  pelt- 
in  him  with  rotten  eggs  an’  oP  cats,  I’d  open  th’ 
dure  f’r  him,  an’  whin  he  come  in  I’d  put  me  fut 
behind  it  an’  I’d  say  to  th’  grateful  people : ‘ Fel- 
low-citizens,’ I’d  say,  ‘ lave  us,’  I’d  say.  ‘ They’se 
another  hero  down  in  Halstead  Sthreet  that’s  been 
marrid.  Go  down  an’  shivaree  him.  An’  you,  me 

[ >39] 


PUBLIC  GRATITUDE 


thrusted  collagues  iv  th’  press,  disperse  to  ye’er 
homes,’  I’d  say.  ‘Th’  keyholes  is  closed  f’r  th’ 
night,  I’d  say.  An’  thin  I’d  bolt  th’  dure  an’  I’d 
say,  ‘ George,  take  off  ye’er  coat  an’  pull  up  to  th’ 
fire.  Here’s  a noggin’  iv  whisky  near  ye’er  thumb 
an’  a good  seegar  f’r  ye  to  smoke.  I’m  no  hero- 
worshiper.  I’m  too  old.  But  I know  a man  whin 
I see  wan,  an’  though  we  cudden’t  come  out  an’  help 
ye  whin  th’  subscription  list  wint  wild,  be  sure  we 
think  as  much  iv  ye  as  we  did  whin  ye’er  name 
was  first  mintioned  be  th’  stanch  an’  faithful  press. 
Set  here,  ol’  la-ad,  an’  warrum  ye’er  toes  by  th’  fire. 
Set  here  an’  r-rest  fr’m  th’  gratichood  iv  ye’er  fel- 
low-counthrymen,  that,  as  Shakspere  says,  biteth 
like  an  asp  an’  stingeth  like  an  adder.  R-rest  here 
as  ye  might  r-rest  at  th’  hearth  iv  millyons  iv  peo- 
ple that  cud  give  ye  no  house  but  their  own  ! ” 

“ I dinnaw  about  that,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ I 
like  Dewey,  but  I think  he  oughtn’t  to’ve  give 
away  th’  gift  iv  th’  nation.” 

“ Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ if ’twas  a crime  f’r 
an  American  citizen  to  have  his  property  in  his 
wife’s  name  they’d  be  close  quarthers  in  th’  pin- 
itinchry.” 


[ H0] 


MARRIAGE  AND 
POLITICS 


SEE,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “that  wan  iv 
thim  New  York  joods  says  a man  in 
pollytics  oughtn’t  to  be  marrid.” 

“Oh,  does  he?”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“Well,  ’tis  little  he  knows  about  it.  A man  in 
pollytics  has  got  to  be  marrid.  If  he  ain’t  marrid 
where’ll  he  go  f’r  another  kind  iv  throuble  ? An’ 
where’ll  he  find  people  to  support  ? An  unmarrid 
man  don’t  get  along  in  pollytics  because  he  don’t 
need  th’  money.  Whin  he’s  in  th’  middle  iv  a 
prim’ry,  with  maybe  twinty  or  thirty  iv  th’  opposite 
party  on  top  iv  him,  thinks  he  to  himsilf:  ‘What’s 
th’  good  iv  fightin’  f’r  a job  ? They’se  no  wan  de- 
pindant  on  me  f’r  support,’  an’  he  surrinders.  But 
a marrid  man  says : ‘ What’ll  happen  to  me  wife 
an’  twelve  small  childher  if  I don’t  win  out  here  to- 
day ? * an’  he  bites  his  way  to  th’  top  iv  th’  pile  an’ 

[Hi] 


MARRIAGE  AND  POLITICS 


breaks  open  th’  ballot  box  f’r  home  and  fireside. 
That’s  th’  thruth  iv  it,  Hinnissy.  Ye’ll  find  all  th’ 
big  jobs  held  be  marrid  men  an’  all  th’  timpry 
clerkships  be  bachelors. 

“ Th’  reason  th’  New  York  jood  thinks  marrid 
men  oughtn’t  to  be  in  pollytics  is  because  he  thinks 
pollytics  is  spoort.  An’  so  it  is.  But  it  ain’t  ama- 
choor  spoort,  Hinnissy.  They  don’t  give  ye  a pew- 
ter mug  with  ye’er  name  on  it  f’r  takin’  a chanst  on 
bein’  kilt.  ’Tis  a profissional  spoort,  like  playin’ 
base-ball  f’r  a livin’  or  wheelin’  a thruck.  Ye  niver 
see  an  amachoor  at  annything  that  was  as  good  as 
a profissional.  Th’  best  amachoor  ball  team  is  beat 
be  a bad  profissional  team ; a profissional  boxer 
that  thrains  on  bock  beer  an’  Swiss  cheese  can  lam 
the  head  off  a goold  medal  amachoor  champeen 
that’s  been  atin’  moldy  bread  an’  dhrinkin’  wather 
1’r  six  months,  an’  th’  Dago  that  blows  th’  cornet 
on  th’  sthreet  f’r  what  annywan  ’ll  throw  him 
can  cut  the  figure  eight  around  Dinnis  Finn,  that’s 
been  takin’  lessons  f’r  twinty  year.  No,  sir,  polly- 
tics ain’t  dhroppin’  into  tea,  an’  it  ain’t  wurrukin*  a 
scroll  saw,  or  makin’  a garden  in  a back  yard.  ’Tis 
gettin’  up  at  six  o’clock  in  th’  mornin’  an’  r-rushin’ 
off  to  wurruk,  an’  cornin’  home  at  night  tired  an’ 
dusty.  Double  wages  f’r  overtime  an’  Sundahs. 

[ H2  ] 


MARRIAGE  AND  POLITICS 


“ So  a man’s  got  to  be  marrid  to  do  it  well. 
He’s  got  to  have  a wife  at  home  to  make  him  on- 
comfortable  if  he  comes  in  dhrunk,  he’s  got  to  have 
little  prattlin’  childher  that  he  can’t  sind  to  th’ 
Young  Ladies’  academy  onless  he  stuffs  a ballot- 
box  properly,  an’  he’s  got  to  have  a sthrong  desire 
f’r  to  live  in  th’  av’noo  an’  be  seen  dhrivin’  down- 


town in  an  open  carredge  with  his  wife  settin’  be- 
side him  undher  a r-red  parasol.  If  he  hasn’t  these 
things  he  won’t  succeed  in  pollytics — or  packin’ 
pork.  Ye  niver  see  a big  man  in  pollytics  that 
dhrank  hard,  did  ye?  Ye  never  will.  An’ that’s 
because  they’re  all  marrid.  Th’  timptation’s  sthrong, 
but  fear  is  sthronger. 

“ Th’  most  domestic  men  in  th’  wurruld  ar-re 

['43] 


MARRIAGE  AND  POLITICS 


politicians,  an’  they  always  marry  early.  An’  that’s 
th’  sad  part  iv  it,  Hinnissy.  A pollytician  always 
marries  above  his  own  station.  That’s  wan  sign 
that  he’ll  be  a successful  pollytician.  Th’  throuble 
is,  th’  good  woman  stays  planted  just  where  she 
was,  an’  he  goes  by  like  a fast  thrain  by  a whistlin’ 
station.  D’ye  mind  O’Leary,  him  that’s  a retired 
capitalist  now,  him  that  was  aldherman,  an’  dhrain- 
age  thrustee,  an’  state  sinitor  f’r  wan  term?  Well, 
whin  I first  knew  O’Leary  he  wurruked  down  on 
a railroad  section  tampin’  th’  thrack  at  wan-fifty  a 
day.  He  was  a sthrong,  willin’  young  fellow,  with 
a stiff  right-hand  punch  an’  a schamin’  brain,  an’ 
anny  wan  cud  see  that  he  was  intinded  to  go  to  th’ 
fr-ront.  Th’  aristocracy  iv  th’  camp  was  Mrs.  Cas- 
sidy, th’  widdy  lady  that  kept  th’  boordin’-house. 
Aristocracy,  Hinnissy,  is  like  rale  estate,  a matther 
iv  location.  I’m  aristocracy  to  th’  poor  O’Briens 
back  in  th’  alley,  th’  brewery  agent’s  aristocracy  to 
me,  his  boss  is  aristocracy  to  him,  an’  so  it  goes,  up 
to  the  czar  of  Rooshia.  He’s  th’  pick  iv  th’  bunch, 
th’  high  man  iv  all,  th’  Pope  not  goin’  in  society. 
Well,  Mrs.  Cassidy  was  aristocracy  to  O’Leary. 
He  niver  see  such  a stylish  woman  as  she  was  whin 
she  turned  out  iv  a Sundah  afthernoon  in  her  horse 
an’  buggy.  He’d  think  to  himsilf,  ‘ If  I iver  can 

[ 144] 


MARRIAGE  AND  POLITICS 


win  that  I’m  settled  f’r  life,’  an’  iv  coorse  he  did. 
‘Twas  a gran’  weddin’;  manny  iv  th’  guests  didn’t 
show  up  at  wurruk  f’r  weeks. 

“ O’Leary  done  well,  an’  she  was  a good  wife  to 
him.  She  made  money  an’  kept  him  sthraight  an’ 
started  him  for  constable.  He  won  out,  bein’  a 
sthrong  man.  Thin  she  got  him  to  r-run  f’r  aldher- 
man,  an’  ye  shud’ve  seen  her  th’  night  he  was  in- 
augurated ! Be  hivins,  Hinnissy,  she  looked  like 
a fire  in  a pawnshop,  fair  covered  with  dimons  an’ 
goold  watches  an’  chains.  She  was  cut  out  to  be 
an  aldherman’s  wife,  and  it  was  worth  goin’  miles  to 
watch  her  leadin’  th’  gran’  march  at  th’  Ar-rchy 
Road  Dimmycratic  Fife  an’  Dhrum  Corps  ball. 

“ But  there  she  stopped.  A good  woman  an’  a 
kind  wan,  she  cudden’t  go  th’  distance.  She  had 
th’  house  an’  th’  childher  to  care  f’r  an’  her  eddy- 
cation  was  through  with.  They  isn’t  much  a 
woman  can  learn  afther  she  begins  to  raise  a fam’ly. 
But  with  O’Leary  ’twas  diff’rent.  I say  ’twas  dif- 
f’rent  with  O’Leary.  Ye  talk  about  ye’er  colleges, 
Hinnissy,  but  pollytics  is  th’  poor  man’s  college. 
A la-ad  without  enough  book  lamin’  to  r-read  a 
meal-ticket,  if  ye  give  him  tin  years  iv  polly-tical 
life,  has  th’  air  iv  a statesman  an’  th’  manner  iv  a 
jook,  an’  cud  take  anny  job  fr’m  dalin’  faro  bank  to 

[ H5  J 


MARRIAGE  AND  POLITICS 


r-runnin  th’  threasury  iv  th’  United  States.  His 
business  brings  him  up  again’  th’  best  men  iv  th’ 
com-munity,  an’  their  customs  an’  ways  iv  speakin’ 
an’  thinkin’  an  robbin’  sticks  to  him.  Th’  good 
woman  is  at  home  all  day.  Th’  on’y  people  she 
sees  is  th’  childher  an’  th’  neighbors.  While  th’ 
good  man  in  a swallow-tail  coat  is  addhressin’  th’ 
Commercial  club  on  what  we  shud  do  f ’r  to  reform 
pollytics,  she’s  discussin’  th’  price  iv  groceries  with 
th’  plumber’s  wife  an’  talkin’  over  th’  back  fince  to 
the  milkman.  Thin  O’Leary  moves  up  on  th’ 
boolyvard.  He  knows  he’ll  get  along  all  r-right 
on  th’  boolyvard.  Th’  men’ll  say  : ‘ They’se  a good 
deal  of  rugged  common  sinse  in  that  O’Leary. 
He  may  be  a robber,  but  they’s  mighty  little  that 
escapes  him.’  But  no  wan  speaks  to  Mrs.  O’Leary. 
No  wan  asts  her  opinion  about  our  foreign  policy. 
She  sets  day  in  an’  day  out  behind  th’  dhrawn  cur- 
tains iv  her  three-story  brownstone  risidence  prayin’ 
that  somewan’ll  come  in  an’  see  her,  an  if  annywan 
comes  she’s  frozen  with  fear.  An’  ’tis  on’y  whin  she 
slips  out  to  Ar-rchey  r-road  an’  finds  th’  plumber’s 
wife,  an’  sets  in  th’  kitchen  over  a cup  iv  tay,  that 
peace  comes  to  her.  By  an’  by  they  offer  O’Leary 
th’  nommynation  f ’r  congress.  He  knows  he’s  fit 
for  it.  He’s  sthronger  thin  th’  young  lawyer  they 

[ H6] 


MARRIAGE  AND  POLITICS 


have  now.  People’ll  listen  to  him  in  Wash’nton 
as  they  do  in  Chicago.  He  says : ‘ I’ll  take  it.’ 
An’  thin  he  thinks  iv  th’  wife  an’  they’s  no  Wash- 
’nton f’r  him.  His  pollytical  career  is  over.  He 
wud  niver  have  been  constable  if  he  hadn’t  marrid, 
but  he  might  have  been  sinitor  if  he  was  a widower. 

“Mrs.  O’Leary  was  in  to  see  th’  Dargans  th’ 
other  day.  ‘ Ye  mus’  be  very  happy  in  ye’er  gran’ 
house,  with  Mr.  O’Leary  doin’  so  well,’  says  Mrs. 
Dargan.  An’  th’  on’y  answer  th’  foolish  woman 
give  was  to  break  down  an’  weep  on  Mrs.  Dargan’s 
neck.” 

“ Yet  ye  say  a pollytician  oughtn’t  to  get  mar- 
rid,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“Up  to  a certain  point,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “he 
must  be  marrid.  Afther  that — well,  I on’y  say 
that,  though  pollytics  is  a gran’  career  t’r  a man, 
’tis  a tough  wan  f’r  his  wife.” 


[ H7] 


ALCOHOL  AS  FOOD 


F a man  come  into  this  saloon — ” Mr. 
Hennessy  was  saying. 

“This  ain’t  no  saloon,”  Mr.  Dooley 
interrupted.  “This  is  a resthrant.” 

“A  what’?”  Mr.  Hennessy  exclaimed. 

“A  resthrant,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “Ye  don’t 
know,  Hinnissy,  that  liquor  is  food.  It  is  though. 
Food — an’  dhrink.  That’s  what  a doctor  says  in 
the  pa-apers,  an’  another  doctor  wants  th’  gover’mint 
to  sind  tubs  iv  th’  stuff  down  to  th’  Ph’lipeens. 
He  says  ’tis  almost  issintial  that  people  shud  dhrink 
in  thim  hot  climates.  Th’  prespiration  don’t  dhry 
on  thim  afther  a hard  pursoot  iv  Aggynaldoo  an’  th’ 
capture  iv  Gin’ral  Pantaloons  de  Garshy;  they  be- 
gin to  think  iv  home  an’  mother  sindin’  down  th’ 
lawn-sprinkler  to  be  filled  with  bock,  an’  they  go  off 
somewhere,  an’  not  bein’  able  to  dhry  thimsilves 
with  dhrink,  they  want  to  die.  Th’  disease  is  called 
nostalgia  or  home-sickness,  or  thirst.” 

[ >49l 


ALCOHOL  AS  FOOD 

“‘What  we  want  to  do  f’r  our  sojer  boys  in  th’ 
Ph’lipeens  besides  killin’  thim,’  says  th’  ar-rmy  sur- 
geon, ‘ is  make  th’  place  more  homelike,’  he  says. 
‘Manny  iv  our  heroes  hasn’t  had  th’  deleeryum 
thremens  since  we  first  planted  th’  stars  an’  sthripes,’ 
he  says,  ‘ an’  th’  bay’nits  among  th’  people,’  he 
says.  ‘ I wud  be  in  favor  iv  havin’  th’  rigimints 
get  their  feet  round  wanst  a week,  at  laste,’  he  says. 
‘ Lave  us,’  he  says,  ‘ reform  th’  reg’lations,’  he  says, 
‘ an’  insthruct  our  sojers  to  keep  their  powdher  dhry 
an’  their  whistles  wet,’  he  says. 

“ Th’  idee  ought  to  take,  Hinnissy,  f’r  th’  other 
doctor  la-ad  has  discovered  that  liquor  is  food.  ‘ A 
man,’  says  he,  ‘can  live  f’r  months  on  a little  booze 
taken  fr’m  time  to  time,’  he  says  ‘ They’se  a gr-reat 
dale  iv  nourishment  in  it,’  he  says.  An’  I believe 
him,  f’r  manny’s  th’  man  I know  that  don’t  think 
iv  eatin’  whin  he  can  get  a dhrink.  I wondher  if 
the  time  will  iver  come  whin  ye’ll  see  a man  sneak- 
in’ out  iv  th’  fam’ly  enthrance  iv  a lunch-room  hur- 
ridly  bitin’  a clove ! People  may  get  so  they’ll 
carry  a light  dinner  iv  a pint  iv  rye  down  to  their 
wurruk,  an’  a man’ll  tell  ye  he  niver  takes  more  thin 
a bottle  iv  beer  f’r  breakfast.  Th’  cook’ll  give  way 
to  th’  bartinder  and  th’  doctor  ’ll  ordher  people  f’r  to 
ate  on’y  at  meals.  Ye’ll  r-read  in  th’  pa-apers  that 

[ 1 5°  J 


ALCOHOL  AS  FOOD 


‘ Anton  Boozinski,  while  crazed  with  ham  an’  eggs, 
thried  to  kill  his  wife  an’  childher.’  On  Pathrick’s 
day  ye’ll  see  th’  Dr.  Tanner  Anti-Food  Fife  an’ 
Drum  corpse  out  at  th’  head  iv  th’  procession  instead 
iv  th’  Father  Macchews,  an’  they’ll  be  places  where 
a man  can  be  took  whin  he  gets  th’  monkeys  fr’m 
immodhrate  eatin’.  Th’  sojers  ’ll  complain  that  th' 
liquor  was  unfit  to  dhrink  an’  they’ll  be  inquiries  to 


find  out  who  sold  embammin’  flood  to  th’  ar-rmy. 
Poor  people  ’ll  have  simple  meals — p’raps  a bucket 
iv  beer  an’  a little  crame  de  mint,  an’  ye’ll  r-read  in 
th’  pa-apers  about  a family  found  starvin’  on  th’ 
North  side,  with  nawthin’  to  sustain  life  but  wan 
small  bottle  iv  gin,  while  th’  head  iv  th’  family,  a 
man  well  known  to  the  polis,  spinds  his  wages  in  a 

[151] 


ALCOHOL  AS  FOOD 


low  doggery  or  bakeshop  fuddlin’  his  brains  with 
custard  pie.  Th’  r-rich  ’ll  inthrajoose  novelties. 
P’raps  they’ll  top  off  a fine  dinner  with  a little 
hasheesh  or  proosic  acid.  Th’  time’ll  come  whin 
ye’ll  see  me  in  a white  cap  fry  in’  a cocktail  over  a 
cooksthove,  while  a nigger  hollers  to  me : ‘ Dhraw  a 
stack  iv  Scotch,’  an’  I holler  back : ‘ On  th’  fire.’ 

Ye  will  not.” 

“ That’s  what  I thought,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“No,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “Whisky  wudden’t  be 
so  much  iv  a luxury  if ’twas  more  iv  a necissity.  I 
don’t  believe  ’tis  a food,  though  whin  me  frind 
Schwartzmeister  makes  a cocktail  all  it  needs  is  a 
few  noodles  to  look  like  a biled  dinner.  No,  whisky 
ain’t  food.  I think  betther  iv  it  thin  that.  I wud- 
den’t insult  it  be  placin’  it  on  th’  same  low  plane  as 
a lobster  salad.  Father  Kelly  puts  it  r-right,  and 
years  go  by  without  him  lookin’  on  it  even  at  Hal- 
lowe’en. 4 Whisky,’  says  he,  4 is  called  the  divvle, 
because,’  he  says,  4 ’tis  wan  iv  the  fallen  angels,’  he 
says.  4 It  has  its  place,’  he  says,  4 but  its  place  is  not 
in  a man’s  head,’  says  he.  4 It  ought  to  be  th’  re- 
ward iv  action,  not  th’  cause  iv  it,’  he  says.  4 It’s  f ’r 
th’  end  iv  th’  day,  not  th’  beginnin’,’  he  says.  ‘Hot 
whisky  is  good  f’r  a cold  heart,  an’  no  whisky’s 
good  f’r  a hot  head,’  he  says.  4 Th’  minyit  a man 

C‘52] 


ALCOHOL  AS  FOOD 


relies  on  it  f’r  a crutch  he  loses  th’  use  iv  his  legs. 
’Tis  a bad  thing  to  stand  on,  a good  thing  to  sleep 
on,  a good  thing  to  talk  on,  a bad  thing  to  think 
on.  If  it’s  in  th’  head  in  th’  mornin’  it  ought  not  to 
be  in  th’  mouth  at  night.  If  it  laughs  in  ye,  dhrink ; 
if  it  weeps,  swear  off.  It  makes  some  men  talk  like 
good  women,  an’  some  women  talk  like  bad  men.  It 
is  a livin’  f’r  orators  an’  th’  death  iv  bookkeepers. 
It  doesn’t  sustain  life,  but,  whin  taken  hot  with 
wather,  a lump  iv  sugar,  a piece  iv  lemon  peel,  and 
just  th’  dustin’  iv  a nutmeg-grater,  it  makes  life  sus- 
tainable.” 

“ D’ye  think  ye-ersilf  it  sustains  life  ? ” asked  Mr. 
Hennessy. 

“ It  has  sustained  mine  f’r  many  years,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley. 


[ 153] 


HIGH  FINANCE 

THINK,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ I’ll  go 
down  to  th’  stock  yards  an’  buy  a 
dhrove  iv  Steel  an’  Wire  stock.” 

“ Where  wud  ye  keep  it  ? ” asked 
the  unsuspecting  Hennessy. 

“ I’ll  put  it  out  on  th’  vacant  lot,”  said  Mr.  Doo- 
ley, “ an’  lave  it  grow  fat  by  atin’  ol’  bur-rd  cages 
an’  tin  cans.  I’ll  milk  it  hard,  an’  whin  ’tis  dhry 
I’ll  dispose  iv  it  to  th’  widdies  an’  orphans  iv  th’ 
Sixth  Ward  that  need  household  pets.  Be  hivins, 
if  they  give  me  half  a chanst,  I’ll  be  as  gr-reat  a 
fi-nanceer  as  anny  man  in  W all  sthreet. 

“ Th’  reason  I’m  so  confident  iv  th’  value  iv  Steel 
an’  Wire  stock,  Hinnissy,  is  they’re  goin’  to  hur-rl 
th’  chairman  iv  th’  comity  into  jail.  That’s  what 
th’  pa-apers  calls  a ray  iv  hope  in  th’  clouds  iv  di- 
pression  that’ve  covered  th’  market  so  long.  ’Tis 
always  a bull  argymint.  ‘ Snowplows  common 

[155] 


HIGH  FINANCE 


was  up  two  pints  this  mornin’  on  th’  rumor  that  th’ 
prisidint  was  undher  ar-rest.’  ‘ They  was  a gr-reat 
bulge  in  Lobster  preferred  caused  be  th’  report  that 
instead  iv  declarin’  a dividend  iv  three  hundhred 
per  cint.  th’  comp’ny  was  preparin’  to  imprison  th’ 
boord  iv  directors.’  ‘Westhrongly  ricommind  th’ 
purchase  iv  Con  and  Founder.  This  comp’ny  is  in 
ixcillint  condition  since  th’  hangin’  iv  th’  comity  on 
reorganization.’ 

“What’s  th’  la-ad  been  doin’,  Hinnissy?  He’s 
been  lettin’  his  frinds  in  on  th’  groun’  flure — an’ 
dhroppin’  thim  into  th’  cellar.  Ye  know  Cassidy, 
over  in  th’  Fifth,  him  that  was  in  th’  ligislachure  ? 
Well,  sir,  he  was  a gr-reat  frind  iv  this  man.  They 
met  down  in  Springfield  whin  th’  la-ad  had  some- 
thing he  wanted  to  get  through  that  wud  protect 
th’  widdies  an’  orphans  iv  th’  counthry  again  their 
own  avarice,  an’  he  must’ve  handed  Cassidy  a good 
argymint,  f’r  Cassidy  voted  f’r  th’  bill,  though 
threatened  with  lynchin’  be  stockholders  iv  th’ 
rival  comp’ny.  He  come  back  here  so  covered 
with  dimons  that  wan  night  whin  he  was  standin’ 
on  th’  rollin’  mill  dock,  th’  captain  iv  th’  Eliza 
Brown  mistook  his  shirt  front  f’r  th’  bridge  lights 
an’  steered  into  a soap  facthry  on  th’  lee  or  gas-house 
shore. 


[*J6] 


HIGH  FINANCE 


“ Th’  man  made  a sthrong  impression  on  Cas- 
sidy. ’Twas:  ‘As  me  frind  Jawn  says,’  or  ‘ I’ll  ask 
Jawn  about  that,’  or  ‘ I’m  goin’  downtown  to-day 
to  find  out  what  Jawn  advises.’  He  used  to  play  a 
dollar  on  th’  horses  or  sivin-up  f’r  th’  dhrinks,  but 
afther  he  met  Jawn  he  wanted  me  to  put  in  a tick- 
er, an’  he  wud  set  in  here  figurin’  with  a piece  iv 
chalk  on  how  high  Wire’d  go  if  hoopskirts  come 
into  fashion  again.  ‘ Give  me  a dhrop  iv  whisky,’ 
he  says,  ‘ f’r  I’m  inthrested  in  Distillers,’  he  says, 
‘ an’  I’d  like  to  give  it  a shove,’  he  says.  ‘ How’s 
Gas?’  he  says.  ‘A  little  weak,  to-day,’  says  I. 
‘’Twill  be  sthronger,’  he  says.  ‘If  it  ain’t,’  says  I, 
‘ I’ll  take  out  th’  meter  an’  connect  th’  pipe  with  th’ 
ventilator.  I might  as  well  bur-rn  th’  wind  free  as 
buy  it,’  I says. 

“A  couple  iv  weeks  ago  he  see  Jawn  an’  they 
had  a long  talk  about  it.  ‘ Cassidy,’  says  Jawn, 
‘ ye’ve  been  a good  frind  iv  mine,’  he  says,  an’  I’d 
do  annything  in  the  wurruld  t’r  ye,  no  matther  what 
it  cost  ye,’  he  says.  ‘ If  ye  need  a little  money  to 
tide  over  th’  har-rd  times  till  th’  ligislachure  meets 
again  buy  ’ — an’  he  whispered  in  Cassidy’s  ear. 
‘ But,’  he  says,  ‘ don’t  tell  annywan.  ’Tis  a good 
thing,  but  I want  to  keep  it  bottled  up,’  he  says. 

“ Thin  Jawn  took  th’  thrain  an’  begun  confidin’ 

[ l57  ] 


HIGH  FINANCE 

his  secret  to  a few  select  frinds.  He  give  it  to  th’ 
conductor  on  th’  thrain,  an’  th’  porther,  an’  th’  can- 
dy butcher ; he  handed  it  to  a switchman  that  got 
on  th’  platform  at  South  Bend,  an’  he  stopped  off 
at  Detroit  long  enough  to  tell  about  it  to  the  deepo’ 
policeman.  He  had  a sign  painted  with  th’  tip  on 
it  an’  hung  it  out  th’  window,  an’  he  found  a man 
that  carrid  a thrombone  in  a band  goin’  over  to 
Buffalo,  an’  he  had  him  set  th’  good  thing  to  music 
an’  play  it  through  th’  thrain.  Whin  he  got  to 
New  York  he  stopped  at  the  Waldorf  Asthoria,  an’ 
while  th’  barber  was  powdhrin’  his  face  with  groun’ 
dimons  Jawn  tol’  him  to  take  th’  money  he  was 
goin’  to  buy  a policy  ticket  with  an’  get  in  on  th’ 
good  thing.  He  tol’  th’  bootblack,  th’  waiter,  th’ 
man  at  th’  news-stand,  th’  clerk  behind  th’  desk,  an’ 
th’  bartinder  in  his  humble  abode.  He  got  up  a 
stereopticon  show  with  pitchers  iv  a widow-an-or- 
phan  befure  an’  afther  wirin’,  an’  he  put  an  adver- 
tisement in  all  th’  pa-apers  tellin’  how  his  stock  wud 
make  weak  men  sthrong.  He  had  th’  tip  sarved 
hot  in  all  th’  resthrants  in  Wall  sthreet,  an’  told  it 
confidintially  to  an  open-air  meetin’  in  Madison 
Square.  ‘ They’se  nawthin,’  he  says,  ‘ that  does  a 
tip  so  much  good  as  to  give  it  circulation,’  he  says. 
‘ I think,  be  this  time,’  he  says,  ‘ all  me  frinds 

[■58] 


HIGH  FINANCE 


knows  how  to  proceed,  but — Great  Hivins ! ’ he 
says.  ‘ What  have  I done  ? Whin  all  the  poor 
people  go  to  get  th’  stock  they  won’t  be  anny  f ’r 
thim.  I can  not  lave  thim  thus  in  th’  lurch.  Me 
reputation  as  a gintleman  an’  a fi-nanceer  is  at 
stake,’  he  says.  ‘ Rather  than  see  these  brave  peo- 
ple starvin’  at  th’  dure  f ’r  a morsel  iv  common  or 
preferred,  I’ll — I’ll  sell  thim  me  own  stock,’  he  says. 
An’  he  done  it.  He  done  it,  Hinnissy,  with  un- 
falthrin’  courage  an’  a clear  eye.  He  sold  thim  his 
stock,  an’  so’s  they  might  get  what  was  left  at  a 
raysonable  price,  he  wrote  a confidintial  note  to  th’ 
pa-apers  tellin’  thim  th’  stock  wasn’t  worth  thirty 
cints  a cord,  an’  now,  be  hivins,  they’re  talkin’  iv 
puttin’  him  in  a common  jail  or  pinitinchry  pre- 
ferred. Th’  ingratichood  iv  man.” 

“ But  what  about  Cassidy  ? ” Mr.  Hennessy 
asked. 

“ Oh,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ he  was  in  here  las’ 
night.  ‘ How’s  our  old  frind  Jawn  ? ’ says  I. 
He  said  nawthin’.  ‘ Have  ye  seen  ye’er  collidge 
chum  iv  late?’  says  I.  ‘Don’t  mintion  that  ma-an’s 
name,’  says  he.  ‘To  think  iv  what  I’ve  done  f’r 
him,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  him  to  throw  me  down,’  he 
says.  ‘ Did  ye  play  th’  tip  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ I did,’ 
says  he.  ‘ How  did  ye  come  out  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ I 

[159] 


HIGH  FINANCE 


haven’t  a cint  lift  but  me  renommynation  f’r  th’ 
ligislachure,’  says  he.  ‘ Well,’  says  I,  ‘ Cassidy,’  I 
says,  ‘ ye’ve  been  up  again  what  th’  pa-apers  call 
hawt  finance,’  I says.  ‘ What  th’  divvle’s  that  ? ’ 
says  he.  ‘ Well,’  says  I,  ‘ it  ain’t  burglary,  an’  it 
ain’t  obtainin’  money  be  false  pretinses,  an’  it 
ain’t  manslaughter,’  I says.  ‘ It’s  what  ye  might 
call  a judicious  seliction  fr’m  th’  best  features  iv 
thim  ar-rts,’  I says.  ‘ T’was  too  sthrong  f’r  me,’  he 
says.  ‘It  was,’  says  I.  ‘Ye’re  about  up  to  simple 
thransom  climbin’,  Cassidy,’  I says.” 


[ 160  ] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSI- 
TION 


F this  r-rush  iv  people  to  th’  Paris  expo- 
sition keeps  up,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy, 
“ they  won’t  be  enough  left  here  f ’r  to 
ilict  a prisidint.” 

“ They’ll  be  enough  left,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 
“ There  always  is.  No  wan  has  gone  fr’m  Ar- 
rchey  r-road,  where  th’  voters  ar-re  made.  I’ve 
looked  ar-round  ivry  mornin’  expectin’  to  miss 
some  familyar  faces.  I thought  Dorgan,  th’  plum- 
ber, wud  go  sure,  but  he  give  it  up  at  th’  las’  mo- 
ment, an’  will  spind  his  summer  on  th’  dhrainage 
canal.  Th’  baseball  season  ’ll  keep  a good  manny 
others  back,  an’  a number  iv  riprisintative  cit’zens 
who  have  stock  or  jobs  in  th’  wire  mills  have  de- 
cided that  ’tis  much  betther  to  inthrust  their  savin’s 
to  John  W.  Gates  thin  to  blow  thim  in  again  th’ 
sthreets  iv  Cairo. 


[161] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION 


“ But  takin’  it  by  an’  large  ’twill  be  a hard  winter 
f’r  th’  r-rich.  Manny  iv  thim  will  have  money 
enough  f’r  to  return,  but  they’ll  be  much  sufferin’ 
among  thim.  I ixpict  to  have  people  dhroppin’  in 
here  nex’  fall  with  subscription  books  f’r  th’  survi- 
vors iv  th’  Paris  exhibition.  Th’  women  down  be 
th’  rollin’  mills  ’ll  be  sewin’  flannels  f’r  th’  dis- 
thressed  millyonaires,  an’  whin  th’  childher  kick 
about  th’  food  ye’ll  say,  Hinnissy,  ‘ Just  think  iv  th’ 
poor  wretches  in  th’  Lake  Shore  dhrive  an’  thank 
Gawd  f’r  what  ye  have.’  Th’  mayor  ’ll  open  soup 
kitchens  where  th’  unforchnit  people  can  come  an’ 
get  a hearty  meal  an’  watch  th’  ticker,  an’  whin  th’ 
season  grows  hard,  ye’ll  see  pinched  an’  hungry  plu- 
tocrats thrampin’  th’  sthreets  with  signs  r-readin’: 
‘ Give  us  a cold  bottle  or  we  perish.’  Perhaps  th’ 
polis  ’ll  charge  thim  an’  bust  in  their  stovepipe  hats, 
th’  prisidint  ’ll  sind  th’  ar-rmy  here,  a conspiracy  ’ll 
be  discovered  at  th’  club  to  blow  up  th’  poorhouse, 
an’  volunteers  ’ll  be  called  on  fr’m  th’  nickel  bed 
houses  to  protect  th’  vested  inthrests  iv  established 
poverty. 

“’Twill  be  a chanst  f’r  us  to  get  even,  Hinnissy. 
I’m  goin’  to  organize  th’  Return  Visitin’  Nurses’ 
association,  composed  entirely  iv  victims  iv  th’  par- 
ent plant.  ’Twill  be  worth  lookin’  at  to  see  th’ 

[ 162] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION 


ladies  fr’m  th’  stock  yards  r-rushin’  into  some 
wretched  home  down  in  Peerary  avenue,  grabbin’ 
th’  misthress  iv  th’  house  be  th’  shouldhers  an’  mak- 
in’  her  change  her  onhealthy  silk  dhress  f’r  a pink 
wrapper,  shovelin’  in  a little  ashes  to  sprinkle  on  th’ 
flure,  breakin’  th’  furniture  an’  rollin’  th’  baby  in  th’ 
coal  box.  What  th’  r-rich  needs  is  intilligint  attin- 


tion.  ‘ Don’t  ate  that  oatmeal.  Fry  a nice  piece  iv 
r-round  steak  with  onions,  give  th’  baby  th’  bone  to 
play  with,  an’  sind  Lucille  Ernestine  acrost  th’  rail- 
road thrack  f’r  a nickel’s  worth  iv  beer.  Thin  ye’ll 
be  happy,  me  good  woman.’  Oh,  ’twill  be  gran’. 
I won’t  give  annything  to  people  that  come  to  th’ 
dure.  More  har-m  is  done  be  indiscriminate  charity 

[163] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION 


than  anny  wan  knows,  Hinnissy.  Half  th’  bankers 
that  ’ll  come  to  ye-er  kitchen  nex’  winter  cud  find 
plenty  iv  wurruk  to  do  if  they  really  wanted  it. 
Dhrink  an’  idleness  is  th’  curse  iv  th’  class.  If  they 
come  to  me  I’ll  sind  thim  to  th’  Paris  Survivors’ 
Mechanical  Relief  Association,  an’  they  can  go 
down  an’  set  on  a cake  iv  ice  an’  wait  till  th’  man  in 
charge  finds  thim  a job  managin’  a diamond  mine.” 

Mr.  Hennessy  dismissed  Mr.  Dooley’s  fancy 
sketch  with  a grin  and  remarked  : “ These  here  ex- 
positions is  a gran’  thing  f’r  th’  progress  iv  th’  wur- 
ruld.” 

“Ye  r-read  that  in  th’  pa-apers,”  said  Mr.  Dooley, 
“an’  it  isn’t  so.  Put  it  down  fr’m  me,  Hinnissy, 
that  all  expositions  is  a blind  f’r  th’  hootchy-kootchy 
dance.  They’ll  be  some  gr-reat  exhibits  at  th’  Paris 
fair.  Th’  man  that  has  a machine  that  ’ll  tur-rn  out 
three  hundhred  thousan’  toothpicks  ivry  minyit  ’ll 
sind  over  his  inthrestin’  device,  they’ll  be  mountains 
iv  infant  food  an’  canned  prunes,  an’  pickle  casters, 
an’  pants,  an’  boots,  an’  shoes  an’  paintin’s.  They’ll 
be  all  th’  wondhers  iv  modhern  science.  Ye  can 
see  how  shirts  ar-re  made,  an’  what  gives  life  to  th’ 
sody  fountain.  Th’  man  that  makes  th’  glue  that 
binds  ’ll  be  wearin’  more  medals  thin  an  officer  iv 
th’  English  ar-rmy  or  a cinchry  bicycle  rider,  an’ 

[164] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION 


years  afther  whin  ye  see  a box  iv  soap  ye’ll  think 
iv  th’  manufacthrer  standin’  up  befure  a hundhred 
thousan’  frinzied  Fr-rinchmen  in  th’  Boss  du  Bo- 
loney while  th’  prisidint  iv  th’  Fr-rinch  places  a 
goold  wreath  on  his  fair  brow  an’  says : ‘ In  th’ 
name  iv  th’  ar-rts  an’  science,  undher  th’  motto  iv 
our  people,  “Libertinity,  insanity,  an’  frugality,”  I 
crown  ye  th’  champeen  soapmaker  iv  th’  wurruld. 
[Cheers.]  Be  ye’er  magnificint  invintion  ye  have 
dhrawn  closer  th’  ties  between  Paris  an’  Goshen, 
Indyanny  [frantic  applause],  which  I hope  will 
niver  be  washed  away.  I wish  ye  much  success  as 
ye  climb  th’  lather  iv  fame.’  Th’  invintor  is  thin 
dhrawn  ar-roun’  th’  sthreets  iv  Paris  in  a chariot 
pulled  be  eight  white  horses  amid  cries  iv  ‘Veev 
Higgins,’  ‘ Abase  Castile,’  et  cethra,  fr’m  th’  popu- 
lace. An’  manny  a heart  beats  proud  in  Goshen 
that  night.  That’s  th’  way  ye  think  iv  it,  but  it 
happens  diff’rent,  Hinnissy.  Th’  soap  king,  th’ 
prune  king,  an’,  th’  porous  plaster  king  fr’m  here 
won’t  stir  up  anny  tumult  in  Paris  this  year.  Th’ 
chances  ar-re  th’  prisidint  won’t  know  they’re  there, 
an’  no  wan  ’ll  speak  to  thim  but  a cab  dhriver,  an’ 
he’ll  say : ‘ Th’  fare  fr’m  th’  Changs  All  Easy  to  th’ 
Roo  de  Roo  is  eighteen  thousan’  francs,  but  I’ll 
take  ye  there  f ’r  what  ye  have  in  ye-er  pockets  ’ 

[•65] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION 

“ The  millyonaire  that  goes  over  there  to  see  th’ 
piled  up  riches  iv  th’  wurruld  in  sausage-makin’  ’ll 
take  a look  ar-round  him  an’  he’ll  say  to  th’  first  po- 
lisman  he  meets : ‘ Gossoon,  this  is  a fine  show  an’ 
I know  yon  palace  is  full  to  th’  seams  with  chiny- 
ware  an’  washtubs,  but  wud  ye  be  so  kind,  mong 
brav’,  as  to  p’int  out  with  ye-er  club  th’  partic’- 
lar  house  where  th’  houris  fr’m  th’  sultan’s  harem 
dances  so  well  without  the  aid  iv  th’  human  feet  ? ’ 
I know  how  it  was  whin  we  had  th’  fair  here.  I 
had  th’  best  intintions  in  th’  wurruld  to  find  out 
what  I ought  to  have  lamed  fr’m  me  frind  Armour, 
how  with  th’  aid  iv  Gawdgiven  machinery  ye  can 
make  a bedstead,  a pianola,  a dozen  whisk-brooms, 
a barrel  iv  sour  mash  whisky,  a suit  iv  clothes,  a 
lamp  chimbly,  a wig,  a can  iv  gunpowdher,  a bah’rl 
iv  nails,  a prisidintial  platform,  an’  a bur-rdcage  out 
iv  what  remains  iv  th’  cow — I was  detarmined  to 
probe  into  th’  wondhers  iv  science,  an’  I started  fair 
f’r  th’  machinery  hall.  Where  did  I bring  up, 
says  ye?  In  th’  fr-ront  seat  iv  a playhouse  with 
me  eye  glued  on  a lady  iv  th’  sultan’s  coort,  near 
Brooklyn  bridge,  thryin’  to  twisht  out  iv  hersilf. 

“No,  Hinnissy,  they’ll  be  manny  things  larned 
be  Americans  that  goes  to  Paris,  but  they  won’t  be 
about  th’  convarsion  iv  boots  into  food,  or  vicey 

[ 166  ] 


THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION 


varsa,  as  Hogan  says.  An’  that’s  r-right.  If  I wint 
over  there  ’tis  little  time  I’d  be  spindin’  thryin’  to 
discover  how  th’  wondhers  iv  mechanical  janius  are 
projooced  that  makes  livin’  so  much  more  healthy 
an’  oncomfortable.  But  whin  I got  to  Paris  I’d 
hire  me  a hack  or  a dhray  painted  r-red,  an’  I’d  put 
me  feet  out  th’  sides  an’  I’d  say  to  th’  dhriver: 
‘ Revolutionist,  pint  ye-er  horse’s  head  to’rds  th’ 
home  iv  th’  skirt  dance,  hit  him  smartly,  an’  go  to 
sleep.  I will  see  th’  snow-plow  show  an’  th’  den- 
tisthry  wurruk  in  th’  pa-apers.  F’r  th’  prisint  I’ll 
devote  me  attintion  to  makin’  a noise  in  th’  sthreets 
an’  studyin’  human  nature.’  ” 

“ Ye’d  be  a lively  ol’  buck  over  there,”  said  Mr. 
Hennessy,  admiringly.  “’Tis  a good  thing  ye 
can’t  go.” 

“ It  is  so,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ I’m  glad  I have 
no  millyonaire  rilitives  to  be  depindent  on  me  f’r 
support  whin  th’  show’s  over.” 


[167] 


CHRISTIAN  JOUR- 
NALISM 


SEE,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “that  th’  la-ad  out 
in  Kansas  that  thried  to  r-run  a paper 
like  what  th’  Lord  wud  r-run  if  he  had 
lived  in  Topeka,  has  thrun  up  th’  job.” 
“ Sure,  I niver  heerd  iv  him,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 
“Well,  ’twus  this  way  with  him,”  Mr.  Dooley 
explained.  “Ye  see,  he  didn’t  like  th’  looks  iv  th’ 
newspapers.  He  got  tired  iv  r-readin’  how  many 
rows  iv  plaits  Mrs.  Potther  Pammer  had  on  th’  las’ 
dhress  she  bought,  an’  whether  McGovern  oughtn’t 
to  go  into  th’  heavy-weight  class  an’  fight  Jeffries, 
an’  he  says,  says  th’  la-ad,  ‘ This  is  no  right  readin’ 
f’r  th’  pure  an’  passionless  youth  iv  Kansas,’  he  says. 
‘ Give  me,’  he  says,  ‘ a chanst  an’  I’ll  projooce  th’ 
kind  iv  organ  that’d  be  got  out  in  hiven,’  he  says, 
‘ price  five  cints  a copy,’  he  says,  ‘ f’r  sale  be  all 


CHRISTIAN  JOURNALISM 


newsdealers ; f’r  advertisin’  rates  consult  th’  cashier,’ 
he  says.  So  a man  in  Topeka  that  had  a newspaper, 
he  says : ‘ I will  not  be  behindhand,’  he  says,  ‘ in 
histin’  Kansas  up  fr’m  its  prisint  low  an’  irrellijous 
position,’  he  says.  ‘ I don’t  know  how  th’  inhabi- 
tants iv  th’  place  ye  refer  to  is  fixed,’  he  says,  ‘ f’r 
newspapers,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  I niver  heerd  iv  annybody 
fr’m  Kansas  home-stakin’  there,’  he  says,  ‘ but  if  ye’ll 
attind  to  th’  circulation  iv  thim  parts,’  he  says,  ‘ I’ll 
see  that  th’  paper  is  properly  placed  in  th’  hands  iv 
th’  vile  an’  wicked  iv  this  earth,  where,’  he  says,  ‘ th’ 
returns  ar-re  more  quick,’  he  says. 

“ Well,  th’  la-ad  wint  at  it,  an’  ’twas  a fine  paper 
he  made.  Hogan  was  in  here  th’  other  day  with  a 
copy  iv  it  an’  I r-read  it.  I haven’t  had  such  a 
lithry  threat  since  I was  a watchman  on  th’  canal 
f’r  a week  with  nawthin’  to  r-read  but  th’  delinquent 
tax  list  an’  the  upper  half  iv  a weather  map.  ’Twas 
gran’.  Th’  editor,  it  seems,  Hinnissy,  wint  into  th’ 
editoryal  rooms  iv  th’  pa-aper  an’  he  gathered  th’ 
force  around  him  fr’m  their  reg’lar  jobs  in  th’  dhrug 
stores,  an’  says  he,  ‘ Gintlemen,’  he  says,  ‘ tell  me 
ye’er  plans  f’r  to  enoble  this  here  Christyan  publica- 
tion f’r  to-day!’  he  says.  ‘Well,’  says  th’  horse 
rayporther,  ‘ they’s  a couple  iv  rabbits  goin’  to  sprint 
around  th’  thrack  at  th’  fair  groun’s,’  he  says.  I 

[ i7°  ] 


CHRISTIAN  JOURNALISM 


think  ’twud  be  a good  thing  f’r  rellijon  if  ye’d  lind 
me  tin  that  I might  br-reak  th’  sin-thralled  bookys 
that  come  down  here  fr’m  Kansas  City  f’r  to  skin 
th’  righteous,’  he  says.  ‘No,’  says  th’  editor,  he 
says,  ‘ no  horse  racin’  in  this  paper,’  he  says.  ‘ ’Tis 
th’  roonation  iv  th’  young,  an’  ye  can’t  beat  it,’  he 
says.  ‘ An’  you,  fair-haired  youth,’  he  says,  ‘ what 
d’ye  do  that  makes  ye’er  color  so  good  an’  ye’er  eye 
so  bright ? ’ ‘I,’  says  th’  la-ad,  ‘ am  th’  boy  that 
writes  th’  fightin’  dope,’  he  says.  ‘ They’se  a couple 
iv  good  wans  on  at  th’  op’ra  house  to-night,  an’  if 
his  Spiklets  don’t  tin-can  ’tis  like  findin’  money  in 
an  ol’  coat  that — ’ ‘ Fightin’,’  says  th’  editor,  ‘ is  a 
crool  an’  onchristyan  spoort,’  he  says.  ‘ Instead  iv 
chroniclin’  th’  ruffyanism  iv  these  misguided  wretches 
that  weigh  in  at  th’  ringside  at  125  poun’s,  an’  I see 
in  a pa-aper  I r-read  in  a barber  shop  th’  other  day 
that  Spike’s  gone  away  back — what’s  that  I’m  say- 
in’*?  Niver  mind.  D’ye  go  down  to  th’ home  iv 
th’  Rivrind  Aloysius  Augustus  Morninbinch  an’ 
interview  him  on  th’  question  iv  man’s  co-operation 
with  grace  in  conversion.  Make  a nice  chatty 
article  about  it  an’  I’ll  give  ye  a copy  iv  wan  iv  me 
books.’  ‘ I will,’  says  th’  la-ad,  ‘ if  he  don’t  swing 
on  me,’  he  says.  The  editor  thin  addhressed  th’ 
staff.  ‘ Gintlemen,’  he  says,  ‘ I find  thatth’  wurruk 

[ l7l  ] 


CHRISTIAN  JOURNALISM 


ye’ve  been  accustomed  to  doin’,’  he  says,  * iscalc’lated 
f’r  to  disthroy  th’  morality  an’  debase  th’  home  life 
iv  Topeka,  not  to  mintion  th’  surroundin’  methro- 
lopuses  iv  Valencia,  Wanamaker,  Sugar  Works, 
Paxico  an’  Snokomo,’  he  says.  ‘ Th’  newspaper,  in- 
stead iv  bein’  a pow’rful  agent  f’r  th’  salvation  iv 
mankind,  has  become  something  that  they  want  to 
r-read,’  he  says.  ‘Ye  can  all  go  home,’  he  says. 
‘ I’ll  stay  here  an’  write  th’  paper  mesilf,’  he  says. 
‘ I’m  th’  best  writer  ar-round  here,  annyhow,  an’  I’ll 
give  thim  something  that’ll  prepare  thim  f’r  death,’ 
he  says. 

“An’  he  did,  Hinnissy,  he  did.  ’Twas  a gran’ 
paper.  They  was  an  article  on  sewerage  an’  wan 
on  prayin’  f’r  rain,  an’  another  on  muni-cipal  owner- 
ship iv  gas  tanks,  an’  wan  to  show  that  they  niver 
was  a good  milker  ownded  be  a pro-fane  man. 
They  was  pomes,  too,  manny  iv  thim,  an’  fine  wans  : 
‘ Th’  Man  with  th’  Shovel,’  ‘ Th’  Man  with  th’  Pick, 
‘ Th’  Man  with  th’  Cash-Raygisther,’  ‘ Th’  Man  with 
th’  Snow  Plow,’  ‘ Th’  Man  with  th’  Bell  Punch,’ 
‘ Th’  Man  with  th’  Skate,’  ‘Th’  Man  with  No 
Kick  Cornin’.’  Fine  pothry,  th’  editor  askin’  who 
pushed  this  here  man’s  forehead  back  an’  planed 
down  his  chin,  who  made  him  wear  clothes  that 
didn’t  fit  him  and  got  him  a job  raisin’  egg-plant 

[ '72~\ 


CHRISTIAN  JOURNALISM 


f’r  th’  monno-polists  in  Topeka  at  a dollar  a day. 
A man  in  th’  editor’s  position  ought  to  know,  but 
he  didn’t,  so  heast  in  th’ pomes.  An’ th’ advertisin’, 
Hinnissy  ! I’d  be  scandalized  f’r  to  go  back  readin’ 
th’  common  advertisin’  in  th’  vile  daily  press  about 
men’s  pantings,  an’  Doesannyoneknowwherelcan- 
geta  biscuit,  an’  In  th’  spring  a young  man’s  fancy 
lightly  turns  to  Pocohontas  plug,  not  made  be  th’ 
thrusts.  Th’  editor  left  thim  sacrilegious  advertise- 
ments f’r  his  venal  contimp’raries.  His  was  pious 
an’  nice  : ‘ Do  ye’er  smokin’  in  this  wurruld.  Th’ 

Christyan  Unity  Five-Cint  See-gar  is  made  out  iv 
th’  finest  grades  iv  excelsior  iver  projooced  in  Kan- 
sas!’ ‘ Nebuchednezzar  grass  seed,  f’r  man  an’ 
beast.’  ‘ A handful  iv  meal  in  a barrel  an’  a little  ile 
in  a curse.  Swedenborgian  bran  fried  in  kerosene 
makes  th’  best  breakfast  dish  in  th’  wurruld.’  ’Twus 
nice  to  r-read.  It  made  a man  feel  as  if  he  was  in 
church — asleep. 

“ How  did  th’  pa-aper  sthrike  th’  people  ? ” says  ye. 
“Oh,  it  sthruck  thim  good.  Says  th’  Topeka  man, 
skinnin’  over  th’  gossip  about  Christyan  citizenship 
an’  th’  toolchest  iv  pothry  : ‘ Eliza,  here’s  a good 
paper,  a fine  wan,  f’r  ye  an’  th’  childher.  Sind 
Tommy  down  to  th’  corner  an’  get  me  a copy  iv  th’ 
Polis  Gazette.’ 


[ l73  ] 


CHRISTIAN  JOURNALISM 


“ Ye  see,  Hinnissy,  th’  editor  wint  to  th’  wrong 
shop  f’r  what  Hogan  calls  his  inspiration.  Father 
Kelly  was  talkin’  it  over  with  me,  an’  says  he  : 
‘ They  ain’t  anny  news  in  bein’  good.  Ye  might 
write  th’  doin’s  iv  all  th’  convents  iv  th’  wurruld  on 
th’  back  iv  a postage  stamp,  an’  have  room  to  spare. 
Supposin’  ye  took  out  iv  a newspaper  all  th’  mur- 
dhers,  an’  suicides,  an’  divorces,  an  elopements,  an’ 
fires,  an’  disease,  an’  war,  an’  famine,’  he  says,  ‘ye 
wudden’t  have  enough  left  to  keep  a man  busy 
r-readin’  while  he  rode  ar-roun’  th’  block  on  th’ 
lightnin’  express.  No,’  he  says,  ‘ news  is  sin  an’  sin 
is  news,  an’  I’m  worth  on’y  a line  beginnin’ : 
“ Kelly,  at  the  parish-house,  April  twinty-sicond, 
in  th’  fiftieth  year  iv  his  age,”  an’  pay  f’r  that,  while 
Scanlan’s  bad  boy  is  good  f’r  a column  anny  time 
he  goes  dhrunk  an’  thries  to  kill  a polisman.  A 
rellijious  newspaper1?  None  iv  thim  f’r  me.  I 
want  to  know  what’s  goin’  on  among  th’  murdher 
an’  burglary  set.  Did  ye  r-read  it  ? ’ he  says.  ‘ I 
did,’  says  I.  ‘ What  did  ye  think  iv  it?  ’ says  he. 
‘ I know,’  says  I,  ‘ why  more  people  don’t  go  to 
church,’  says  I.” 


[174] 


THE  ADMIRAL’S 
CANDIDACY 


SEE,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “that  Dewey 
is  a candydate  f’r  prisidint.” 

“Well,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “I 
hope  to  hiven  he  won’t  get  it.  No  rili- 
tive  iv  mine  iver  held  a pollytical  job  barrin’  mesilf. 
I was  precint  captain,  an’  wan  iv  th’  best  they  was  in 
thim  days,  if  I do  say  so  that  shudden’t.  I was 
called  Cap  f’r  manny  years  aftherward,  an’  I’d’ve 
joined  th’  Gr-rand  Army  iv  th’  Raypublic  if  it 
hadn’t  been  f’r  me  poor  feet.  Manny  iv  me  rili* 
tives  has  been  candydates,  but  they  niver  cud  win 
out  again  th’  r-rest  iv  th’  fam’ly.  ’Tis  so  with  Cousin 
George.  I’m  again  him.  I’ve  been  a rayspictable 
saloon-keeper  f’r  forty  years  in  this  ward,  an’  I’ll  not 
have  th’  name  dhragged  into  pollytics. 

“ Iv  coorse,  I don’t  blame  Cousin  George.  I’m 

[ 175] 


THE  ADMIRAL’S  CANDIDACY 


with  him  f’r  annything  else  in  th’  gift  iv  th’  people, 
fr’m  a lovin’-cup  to  a house  an’  lot.  He  don’t  mean 
annything  be  it.  Did  ye  iver  see  a sailor  thryin’  to 
ride  a horse?  ’Tis  a comical  sight.  Th’  reason  a 
sailor  thries  to  ride  a horse  is  because  he  niver  r-rode 
wan  befure.  If  he  knew  annything  about  it  he 
wouldn’t  do  it.  So  be  Cousin  George.  Afther  he’d 
been  over  here  awhile  an’  got  so  ’twas  safe  f’r  him 
to  go  out  without  bein’  torn  to  pieces  f’r  soovenirs 
or  lynched  be  a mob,  he  took  a look  ar-round  him 
an’  says  he  to  a polisman  : ‘ What’s  th’  governmint 
iv  this  counthry?’  ’Tis  a raypublic,’  says  th’  po- 
lisman. ‘ What’s  th’  main  guy  called  ? ’ says  George. 
‘ He’s  called  prisidint,’  says  th’  polisman.  ‘ Is  it  a 
good  job  ? ’ says  Cousin  George.  ‘ ’Tis  betther  thin 
thravelin’  beat,’  says  th’  bull.  ‘ What’s  th’  la-ad’s 
name  that’s  holdin’  it  now  ? ’ says  Cousin  George. 
‘ Mack,’  says  th’  cop.  ‘ Irish  ? ’ says  George.  ‘ Cross,’ 
says  th’  elbow.  ‘ W here  fr’m  ? ’ says  George.  ‘ Ohio,’ 
says  the  peeler.  ‘ Where’s  that  ? ’ says  George.  ‘ I 
dinnaw,’  says  th’  bull.  An’  they  parted  th’  best  iv 
frinds. 

“ ‘ Well,’  says  George  to  himsilf,  ‘ I guess  I’ll 
have  to  go  up  an’  have  a look  at  this  la-ad’s  place,’ 
he  says,  ‘an’  if  it  looks  good,’  he  says,  ‘p’raps  I cud 
nail  it,’  he  says.  An’  he  goes  up  an’  sees  Mack  dic- 

[ !76  3 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  CANDIDACY 


tatin’  his  Porther  Rickyan  policy  to  a kinetoscope, 
an’  it  looks  like  a nice  employmint  f’r  a spry  man, 
an’  he  goes  back  home  an’  sinds  f’r  a rayporther,  an’ 
says  he  : ‘I  always  believe  since  I got  home  in  deal- 
in’  frankly  with  th’  press.  I haven’t  seen  manny 
papers  since  I’ve  been  at  sea,  but  whin  I was  a boy 
me  father  used  to  take  the  Montpelier  Paleejum. 
’Twas  r-run  be  a man  be  th’  name  iv  Horse  Clam- 


back.  He  was  quite  a man  whin  sober.  Ye’ve 
heerd  iv  him,  no  doubt.  But  what  I ast  ye  up  here 
f’r  was  to  give  ye  a item  that  ye  can  write  up  in 
ye’er  own  way  an’  hand  to  th’  r-rest  iv  th’  boys.  I’m 
goin’  to  be  prisidint.  I like  th’  looks  iv  the  job  an’ 
nobody  seems  to  care  f’r  it,  an’  I’ve  got  so  blame 
tired  since  I left  th’  ship  that  if  I don’t  have  some- 
thin’ to  do  I’ll  go  crazy,’  he  says.  ‘ I wisht  ye’d 
make  a note  iv  it  an’  give  it  to  th’  other  papers,’  he 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  CANDIDACY 


says.  ‘ Ar-re  ye  a raypublican  or  a dimmycrat  ? ’ 
says  the  rayporter.  ‘ What’s  that  ? ’ says  Cousin 
George.  ‘ D’ye  belong  to  th’  raypublican  or  th’ 
dimmycrat  party  ? ’ ‘ What  ar-re  they  like  ? ’ says 

Cousin  George.  ‘ Th’  raypublicans  ar-re  in  favor  iv 
expansion.’  ‘ Thin  I’m  a raypublican.’  ‘ Th’  dim- 
mycrats  ar-re  in  favor  iv  free  thrade.’  ‘ Thin  I’m  a 
dimmycrat.’  ‘ Th’  raypublicans  ar-re  f’r  upholdin’ 
th’  goold  standard.’  ‘ So’m  I.  I’m  a raypublican 
there.’  ‘An’  they’re  opposed  to  an  income  tax.’ 
‘ On  that,’  says  Cousin  George,  ‘ I’m  a dimmycrat. 
I tell  ye,  put  me  down  as  a dimmycrat.  Divvle  th’ 
bit  I care.  Just  say  I’m  a dimmycrat  with  sthrong 
raypublican  leanings.  Put  it  this  way  : I’m  a dim- 
mycrat, be  a point  raypublican,  dimmycrat.  Anny 
sailor  man’ll  undherstand  that.’  ‘ What’ll  I say  ye’er 
platform  is?’  ‘Platform?’  ‘Ye  have  to  stand 
on  a platform.’  ‘ I do,  do  I?  Well,  I don’t.  I’ll 
stand  on  no  platform,  an’  I’ll  hang  on  no  sthrap. 
What  d’ye  think  th’ prisidincy  is — a throlleycar? 
No,  sir,  whin  ye  peek  in  th’  dure  to  sell  ye’er  paper 
ye’ll  see  ye’er  Uncle  George  settin’  down  comforta- 
ble with  his  legs  crossed,  thrippin’  up  annywan  that 
thries  to  pass  him.  Go  out  now  an’  write  ye’er  little 
item,  f’r  ’tis  late  an’  all  hands  ar-re  piped  to  bed,’  he 
says. 


[i78] 


THE  ADMIRAL'S  CANDIDACY 

“An1  there  ye  ar-re.  Well,  sir,  ’tis  a hard  year 
Cousin  George  has  in  store  f’r  him.  Th’  first  thing 
he  knows  he’ll  have  to  pay  f’r  havin’  his  pitchers  in 
th’  pa-aper.  Thin  he’ll  larn  iv  siv’ral  prevyous  con- 
victions in  Vermont.  Thin  he’ll  discover  that  they 
■was  no  union  label  on  th’  goods  he  delivered  at  Ma- 
nila. ’Twill  be  pointed  out  be  careful  observers  that 
he  was  ilicted  prisidint  iv  th’  A.  P.  A.  be  th’  Jesuits. 
Thin  somewan’ll  dig  up  that  story  about  his  not 
feelin’  anny  too  well  th’  mornin’  iv  th’  fight,  an’  ye 
can  imajine  th’  pitchers  they’ll  print,  an’  th’  jokes 
that’ll  be  made,  an’  th’  songs : ‘ Dewey  Lost  His 
Appetite  at  th’  Battle  iv  Manila.  Did  McKinley 
Iver  Lose  His?’  An?  George’ll  wake  up  th’ 
mornin’  afther  iliction  an’  he’ll  have  a sore  head  an’ 
a sorer  heart,  an’  he’ll  find  that  th’  on’y  support  he 
got  was  fr’m  th’  goold  dimmycratic  party,  an’  th’ 
chances  ar-re  he  caught  cold  fr’m  goin’  out  without 
his  shawl  an’  cudden’t  vote.  He’ll  find  that  a man 
can  be  r-right  an’  be  prisidint,  but  he  can’t  be  both 
at  th’  same  time.  An’  he’ll  go  down  to  breakfast 
an’  issue  Gin’ral  Ordher  Number  Wan,  ‘To  All 
Superyor  Officers  Commandin’  Admirals  iv  th’ 
United  States  navy  at  home  or  on  foreign  service : 
If  anny  man  mintions  an  admiral  f’r  prisidint,  hit 
him  in  th’  eye  an’  charge  same  to  me.’  An’  thin 

[ 1 79  3 


THE  ADMIRAL’S  CANDIDACY 


he’ll  go  to  his  office  an’  prepare  a plan  f ’r  to  capture 
Dublin,  th’  capital  iv  England,  whin  th’  nex’  war 
begins.  An’  he’ll  spind  th’  r-rest  iv  his  life  thryin’ 
to  live  down  th’  time  he  was  a candydate.” 

“Well,  be  hivins,  I think  if  Dewey  says  he’s  a 
dimmycrat  an’  Joyce  is  with  him,  I’ll  give  him  a 
vote,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ It’s  no  sin  to  be  a 
candydate  f’r  prisidint.” 

“No,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “’Tis  sometimes  a 
misfortune  an’  sometimes  a joke.  But  I hope  ye 
won’t  vote  f’r  him.  He  might  be  ilicted  if  ye  did. 
I’d  like  to  raymimber  him,  an’  it  might  be  I cud- 
den’t  if  he  got  th’  job.  Who  was  the  prisidint 
befure  Mack  Oh,  tubby  sure  ! ” 


[180] 


CUSTOMS  OF  KEN- 
TUCKY 


ELL,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ ’tis  good  to 
see  that  th’  gloryous  ol’  commonwealth 
iv  Kentucky  is  itsilf  again.” 

“ How’s  that  ? ” asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ F’r  some  time  past,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ they’s 
been  nawthin’  doin’  that’d  make  a meetin’  iv  th’ 
Epworth  League  inthrestin’.  Th’  bystanders  in 
Kentucky  has  been  as  safe  as  a journeyman  high- 
wayman in  Chicago.  Perfectly  innocent  an’  un- 
armed men  wint  into  th’  state  an’  come  out  again 
without  a bullethole  in  their  backs.  It  looked  f’r 
awhile  as  if  th’  life  iv  th’  ordn’ry  visitor  was  goin’  to 
be  as  harmless  in  Kentucky  as  in  Utah,  th’  home  iv 
th’  desthroyers  iv  American  domestic  life.  I din- 
naw  why  it  was,  whether  it  was  th’  influence  iv  our 
new  citizens  in  Cubia  an’  th’  Ph’lippeens  or  what  it 

[.81] 


CUSTOMS  OF  KENTUCKY 


was,  but  annyhow  th’  on’y  news  that  come  out  iv 
Kentucky  was  as  peaceful,  Hinnissy,  as  th’  rayports 
iv  a bloody  battle  in  South  Africa.  But  Kentucky, 
as  Hogan  says,  was  not  dead  but  on’y  sleepin’. 
Th’  other  day  that  gran’  ol’  state  woke  up  through 
two  iv  its  foremost  rapid  firin’  citizens. 

“ They  met  be  chanst  in  a hotel  con-tagious  to 
a bar.  Colonel  Derringer  was  settin’  in  a chair 
peacefully  fixin’  th’  hammer  iv  his  forty-four  Colt 
gun,  presinted  to  him  be  his  constitooents  on  th’  oc- 
casion iv  his  mim’rable  speech  on  th’  nicissity  iv 
spreadin’  th’  civilization  iv  th’  United  States  to  th’ 
ends  iv  th’  wur-ruld.  Surroundin’  him  was  Major 
Bullseye,  a well-known  lawyer,  cattle-raiser  an’  jour- 
nalist iv  Athens,  Bulger  County,  whose  desthruction 
iv  Captain  Cassius  Glaucus  Wiggins  at  th’  meetin’ 
iv’  th’  thrustees  in  th’  Sicond  Baptist  Church  ex- 
cited so  much  comment  among  spoortin’  men  three 
or  four  years  ago,  Gin’ral  Rangefinder  iv  Thebes, 
Colonel  Chivvy  iv  Sparta,  who  whittled  Major  Ly- 
curgus  Gam  iv  Thermopylae  down  to  th’  wish- 
bone at  th’  anti-polygamist  meetin’  las’  June,  an’ 
other  well-known  gintlemen. 

“ Th’  party  was  suddenly  confronted  be  Major 
Lyddite  iv  Carthage  an’  a party  iv  frinds  who 
were  in  town  for  th’  purpose  iv  protectin’  th’  suf- 

[182] 


CUSTOMS  OF  KENTUCKY 


frage  again’  anny  pollution  but  their  own.  Colonel 
Derringer  an’  Major  Lyddite  had  been  inimies  f’r 
sivral  months,  iver  since  Major  Lyddite  in  an  at- 
timpt  to  desthroy  wan  iv  his  fellow-citizens  killed  a 
cow  belongin’  to  th’  janial  Colonel.  Th’  two  gin- 
tlemen  had  sworn  f’r  to  slay  each  other  at  sight  or 


thirty  days,  an’  all  Kentucky  society  has  been  on 
what  Hogan  calls  th’  quee  veev  or  look-out  f’r 
another  thrajeedy  to  be  added  to  th’  long  list  iv 
sim’lar  ivints  that  marks  th’  histhry  iv  th’  Dark  an’ 
Bloody  Groun’ — which  is  a name  given  to  Ken- 
tucky be  her  affectionate  sons. 

“ Without  a wur-rud  or  a bow  both  gintlemen 

[183] 


CUSTOMS  OF  KENTUCKY 


dhrew  on  each  other  an’  begun  a deadly  fusillade. 
That  is,  Hinnissy,  they  begun  shootin’  at  th’  by- 
standers. I’ll  tell  ye  what  th’  pa-apers  said  about  it. 
Th’  two  antagonists  was  in  perfect  form  an’  well 
sustained  th’  reputation  iv  th’  state  f ’r  acc’rate  work- 
manship. Colonel  Derringer’s  first  shot  caught  a 
boot  an’  shoe  drummer  fr’m  Chicago  square  in  th’ 
back  amid  consid’rable  applause.  Major  Lyddite 
tied  th’  scoor  be  nailin’  a scrubwoman  on  th’  top  iv 
a ladder.  Th’  man  at  th’  traps  sprung  a bell  boy 
whom  th’  Colonel  on’y  winged,  thus  goin’  back 
wan,  but  his  second  barrel  brought  down  a book- 
canvasser  fr’m  New  York,  an’  this  bein’  a Jew  man 
sint  him  ahead  three.  Th’  Major  had  an  aisy  wan 
f’r  th’  head  waiter,  nailin’  him  just  as  he  jumped 
into  a coal  hole.  Four  all.  Th’  Colonel  thried  a 
difficult  polisman,  lamin’  him.  Thin  th’  Major 
turned  his  attintion  to  his  own  frinds,  an’  made 
three  twos  in  succession.  Th’  Colonel  was  not  so 
forch’nate.  He  caught  Major  Bullseye  an’  Captain 
Wiggins,  but  Gin’ral  Rangefinder  was  safe  behind 
a barber’s  pole  an’  Colonel  Chivvy  fluttered  out  iv 
range.  Thus  th’  scoor  was  tin  to  six  at  th’  conclu- 
sion iv  th’  day’s  spoort  in  favor  iv  Major  Lyddite. 
Unforchnately  th’  gallant  Major  was  onable  f’r  to 
reap  th’  reward  iv  his  excellent  marksmanship,  f’r  in 

[.84] 


CUSTOMS  OF  KENTUCKY 


a vain  indeavor  f ’r  a large  scoor,  he  chased  th’  bar- 
ber iv  th’  sicond  chair  into  th’  street,  an’  there  slip- 
pin’  on  a banana  peel,  fell  an’  sustained  injuries  fr’m 
which  he  subsequently  died.  In  him  th’  counthry 
loses  a valu’ble  an’  acc’rate  citizen,  th’  state  a lile 
an’  rapid  firin’  son,  an’  society  a leadin’  figure,  his 
meat-market  an’  grocery  bein’  wan  iv  th’  largest 
outside  iv  Minerva.  Some  idee  iv  th’  acc’racy  iv 
th’  fire  can  be  gained  fr’m  th’  detailed  scoor,  as 
follows : Lyddite,  three  hearts,  wan  lung,  wan  kid- 
ney, five  brains.  Derringer,  four  hearts,  two  brains. 
This  has  seldom  been  excelled.  Among  th’  minor 
casualties  resultin’  fr’m  this  painful  but  delightful 
soiree  was  th’  followin’ : Erastus  Haitch  Muggins, 
kilt  be  jumpin’  fr’m  th’  roof;  Blank  Cassidy,  hide 
an’  pelt  salesman  fr’m  Chicago,  burrid  undher  vic- 
tims ; Captain  Epaminondas  Lucius  Quintus  Cas- 
sius Marcellus  Xerxes  Cyrus  Bangs  of  Hoganpolis, 
Hamilcar  Township,  Butseen  County,  died  iv 
hear-rt  disease  whin  his  scoor  was  tied.  Th’  las’ 
named  was  a prominent  leader  in  society,  a crack 
shot  an’  a gintleman  iv  th’  ol’  school  without  fear 
an’  without  reproach.  His  son  succeeds  to  his 
lunch  car.  Th’  others  don’t  count. 

“’Twas  a gr-reat  day  f’r  Kentucky,  Hinnissy,  an’ 
it  puts  th’  gran’  ol’  state  two  or  three  notches  ahead 

[185] 


CUSTOMS  OF  KENTUCKY 


rv  anny  sim’lar  community  in  th’  wur-ruld.  Talk 
about  th’  Boer  war  an’  th’  campaign  in  th’  Ph’lip- 
peens ! Whin  Kentucky  begins  f ’r  to  shoot  up 
her  fav’rite  sons  they’ll  be  more  blood  spilled  thin 
thim  two  play  wars’d  spill  between  now  an’  th’ 
time  whin  Ladysmith’s  relieved  f’r  th’  las’  time  an’ 
Agynaldoo  is  r-run  up  a three  in  th’  outermost  cor- 
ner iv  Hoar  County,  state  iv  Luzon.  They’se  rale 
shootin’  in  Kentucky,  an’  whin  it  begins  ivrybody 
takes  a hand.  ’Tis  th’  on’y  safe  way.  If  ye  thry 
to  be  an  onlooker  an’  what  they  calls  a non-com- 
batant ’tis  pretty  sure  ye’ll  be  taken  home  to  ye’er 
fam’ly  lookin’  like  a cribbage-boord.  So  th’  thing 
f’r  ye  to  do  is  to  be  wan  iv  th’  shooters  ye’ersilfj 
load  up  ye’er  gun  an’  whale  away  f’r  th’  honor  iv 
ye’er  counthry.” 

“ ’Tis  a disgrace,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ Where 
were  th’  polis  ? ” 

“ This  was  not  th’  place  f’r  a polisman,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley.  “ I suspict  though,  fr’m  me  knowledge 
iv  th’  kind  iv  man  that  uses  firear-rms  that  if  some 
wan’d  had  th’  prisence  iv  mind  to  sing  out  ‘They’se 
a man  at  th’  bar  that  offers  to  buy  dhrinks  f’r  th’ 
crowd,’  they’d  be  less  casu’lties  fr’m  bullets,  though 
they  might  be  enough  people  kilt  in  th’  r-rush  to 
even  it  up.  But  whin  I read  about  these  social 

t '861 


CUSTOMS  OF  KENTUCKY 


affairs  in  Kentucky,  I sometimes  wish  some  spool 
cotton  salesman  fr’m  Matsachoosets,  who’d  be  sure 
to  get  kilt  whin  th’  shootin’  begun,  wud  go  down 
there  with  a baseball  bat  an’  begin  tappin’  th’  gallant 
gintlemen  on  th’  head  befure  breakfast  an’  in  silf 
definse.  I’ll  bet  ye  he’d  have  thim  jumpin’  through 
thransoms  in  less  thin  two  minyits,  f’r  ye  can  put 
this  down  as  thrue  fr’m  wan  that’s  seen  manny  a 
shootin’,  that  a man,  barrin’  he’s  a polisman,  on’y 
dhraws  a gun  whin  he’s  dhrunk  or  afraid.  Th’ 
gun  fighter,  Hinnissy,  tin  to  wan  is  a cow’rd.” 

“ That’s  so,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy.  “ But  it  don’t 
do  to  take  anny  chances  on.” 

“ No,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ he  might  be  dhrunk.” 


[187] 


A SOCIETY  SCANDAL 


ELL,  sir,  I guess  I’m  not  up  on  etiket,” 
said  Mr.  Dooley. 

“ How’s  that  ? ” demanded  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy. 

“I’ve  been  readin’  about  Willum  Waldorf  As- 
thor,”  replied  Mr.  Dooley,  “ an’  th’  throuble  he  had 
with  a la-ad  that  bummed  his  way  into  his  party. 
Ye  see,  Hinnissy,  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor,  give  a 
party  at  his  large  an’  commodjious  house  in  Lon- 
don. That’s  where  he  lives — in  London — though 
he  r-runs  a hotel  in  New  York,  where  ye  can  see 
half  th’  state  iv  Ioway  near  anny  night,  they  tell  me. 
Well,  he  give  this  party  on  a gran’  scale,  an’  bought 
gr-reat  slathers  iv  food  an’  dhrink,  an’  invited  th’ 
neighbors  an’  the  neighbors’  childher.  But  wan 
man  he  wudden’t  have.  He’s  goin’  over  th’  list  iv 
th’  people  that’s  to  come,  an’  he  says  to  his  sicrety : 
‘ Scratch  that  boy.  Him  an’  me  bump  as  we  pass 


A SOCIETY  SCANDAL 


by.’  He  didn’t  want  this  fellow,  ye  see,  Hinnissy. 
I don’t  know  why.  They  was  dissatisfaction  be- 
tween thim ; annyhow,  he  says:  ‘Scratch  him,’ 

an’  he  was  out  iv  it. 

“Well,  wan  night,  th’  fellow  was  settin’  down  f’r 

a bite  to  eat  with  Lady  O , an’  Lady  S , an’ 

Lady  G , an’  Lady  Y , an’  other  ladies  that 

had  lost  their  names,  an’  says  wan  iv  thim,  ‘ Cap,’ 
she  says,  ‘ ar-re  ye  goin’  to  Asthor’s  doin’s  to- 
night?’ she  says.  ‘Not  that  I know  iv,’  says  th’ 
Cap.  ‘He  hasn’t  sint  me  anny  wurrud  that  I’m 
wanted,’  he  says.  ‘ What  differ  does  it  make,’  says 
th’  lady.  ‘Write  an  invitation  f’r  ye’rsilf  on  ye’er 
cuff  an’  come  along  with  us,’  says  she.  ‘I’ll  do 
it,’  says  the  Cap,  an’  he  sint  f’r  an  automobile  an’ 
goes  along. 

“ Well,  ivrything  was  all  r-right  f’r  awhile,  an’ 
th’  Cap  was  assaultin’  a knuckle  iv  ham  an’  a shell 
iv  beer,  whin  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor  comes  up 
an’  taps  him  on  th’  shoulder  an’  says:  ‘Duck.’ 

‘ What  name  ? ’ says  th’  Cap.  ‘ Asthor,’  says 
Willum.  ‘ Oh,’  says  th’  Cap,  ‘ ye’re  th’  American 
gazabo  that  owns  this  hut,’  he  says.  ‘ I am,’  says 
Willum.  ‘I  can’t  go,’  says  th’  Cap.  ‘Ye  didn’t 
ask  me  here  an’  ye  can’t  sind  me  away,’  he  says. 
‘ Gossoon,  another  shell  iv  malt,  an’  dhraw  it  more 

[190] 


A SOCIETY  SCANDAL 


slow,’  he  says.  ‘ I am  an  English  gintleman  an’  I 
know  me  rights,’  he  says.  ‘ Dure  or  window,’  says 
Willum.  ‘ Take  ye’er  choice,’  he  says.  ‘ If  ye 
insist,’  says  th’  Cap,  ‘ I’ll  take  th’  dure,’  he  says, 
‘but  ye  don’t  know  th’  customs  iv  civilization,’  he 
says;  an’  th’  hired  man  just  grazed  him  on  th’  dure 
sthep. 

“ Well,  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor  was  that  mad, 
he  wint  down  to  his  pa-aper  office,  an’  says  he,  ‘ I 
want  to  put  in  an  item,’  he  says,  an’  he  put  it  in. 
‘ It  is  wished,’  he  says,  ‘ to  be  apprihinded,’  he  says, 
‘ be  those  desirous  not  to  have  been  misinformed,’  he 
says,  ‘concarnin’  th’  recent  appearance  iv  Cap  Sir 
Mills  at  me  party,’  he  says,  ‘that  ’twas  not  be  me 
that  said  Cap  Sir  Mills  come  to  be  on  th’  site,’  he 
says,  ‘ but  rather,’  he  says,  ‘ through  a desire  on  th’ 
part  iv  Cap  Sir  Mills  to  butt  into  a party  to  which 
his  invitation  was  lost  about  three  hours  befure  ’twas 
written,’  he  says. 

“Well,  now,  ye’d  think  that  was  all  right,  wud- 
den’t  ye?  Ye’d  say  Asthor  acted  mild  whin  he 
didn’t  take  down  his  goold  ice  pick  from  th’  wall  an’ 
bate  th’  Cap  over  th’  head.  Th’  Cap,  though  a 
ganial  soul,  had  no  business  there.  ’Twas  Willum 
Waldorf  Asthor  that  paid  f’r  the  ice  cream  an’ 
rented  th’  chiny.  But  that’s  where  ye’d  be  wrong, 

[ *9*  ] 


A SOCIETY  SCANDAL 

an’  that’s  where  I was  wrong.*  Whin  th’  Prince  iv 
Wales  heerd  iv  it  he  was  furyous.  ‘ What,’  he  says, 
‘ is  an  English  gintleman  goin’  to  be  pegged  out  iv 
dures  be  a mere  American  be  descent?  ’ he  says.  ‘ A 
man,’  he  says,  ‘ that  hasn’t  an  entail  to  his  name,’ 
he  says.  ‘An  American’s  home  in  London  is  an 
Englishman’s  castle,’  he  says.  ‘ As  th’  late  Earl  iv 
Pitt  said,  th’  furniture  may  go  out  iv  it,  th’  consta- 
ble may  enther,  th’  mortgage  may  fall  on  th’  rooned 
roof,  but  a thrue  Englishman’ll  niver  leave,’  he 
says,  ‘ while  they’se  food  an’  dhrink,’  he  says. 
‘Willum  Waldorf  Asthor  has  busted  th’  laws  iv 
hospitality,  an’  made  a monkey  iv  a lile  subjick  iv 
th’  queen,’  he  says.  ‘ Hinceforth,’  he  says,  ‘ he’s  ast 
to  no  picnics  iv  th’  Buckingham  Palace  Chowder 
Club,’  he  says.  An’  th’  nex’  day  Willum  Waldorf 
Asthor  met  him  at  th’  races  where  he  was  puttin’ 
down  a bit  iv  money  an’  spoke  to  him,  an’  th’ 
Prince  iv  Wales  gave  him  wan  in  th’  eye.  He 
must ’ve  had  something  in  his  hand,  f’r  the  pa-aper 
said  he  cut  him.  P’raps  ’twas  his  scipter.  An’  now 
no  wan’ll  speak  to  Willum  Waldorf  Asthor,  an’ 
he’s  not  goin’  to  be  a jook  at  all,  an’  he  may  have  to 
come  back  here  an’  be  nachurlized  over  again  like 
a Bohamian.  He’s  all  broke  up  about  it.  He’s 
gone  to  Germany  to  take  a bath.” 

t1 92] 


A SOCIETY  SCANDAL 


“ Lord,  help  us,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ can’t  he 
get  wan  nearer  home  ? ” 

“ It  seems  not,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ Mebbe  the 
Prince  iv  Wales  has  had  th’  wather  cut  off.  He 
has  a big  pull  with  th’  people  in  th’  city  hall.” 


[ »93] 


DOINGS  OF  ANAR- 
CHISTS 


HY  should  anny  man  want  to  kill  a 
king  ? ” said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ That’s 
what  I’d  like  to  know.  Little  gredge 
have  I again’  anny  monarch  in  th’  deck. 
Live  an’  let  live’s  me  motto.  Th’  more  ye  have  in 
this  wurruld  th’  less  ye  have.  Make  in  wan  place, 
lose  in  another’s  th’  rule,  me  boy.  Little  joy,  little 
sorrow.  Takin’  it  all  an’  all  I’d  rather  be  where  I 
am  thin  on  a throne,  an’  be  th’  look  iv  things  I’ll 
have  me  wish.  ’Tis  no  aisy  job  bein’  a king  barrin’ 
th’  fact  that  ye  don’t  have  to  marry  th’  woman  iv 
ye’er  choice  but  th’  woman  iv  somebody  else’s. 
’Tis  like  takin’  a conthract  an’  havin’  th’  union  fur- 
nish th’  foreman  an’  th’  mateeryal.  Thin  if  th’ 
wurruk  ain’t  good  a wild-eyed  man  fr’m  Paterson, 
Noo  Jarsey,  laves  his  monkey  an’  his  hand  organ  an’ 

[ 195  ] 


DOINGS  OF  ANARCHISTS 

takes  a shot  at  ye.  Thank  th’  Lord  I’m  not  so  big 
that  anny  man  can  get  comfort  fr’m  pumpin’  a 
Winchester  at  me  fr’m  th’  top  iv  a house. 

“But  if  I was  king  ne’er  an  organ  grinder’d  get 
near  enough  me  to  take  me  life  with  a Hotchkiss 
gun.  I’d  be  so  far  away  fr’m  the  multitood,  Hin- 
nissy,  that  they  cud  on’y  distinguish  me  rile  features 
with  a spy-glass.  I’d  have  polismen  at  ivry  tur-rn, 
an’  I’d  have  me  subjicks  retire  to  th’  cellar  whin  I 
took  me  walk.  Divvle  a bit  wud  you  catch  me 
splattherin’  mesilf  with  morthar  an’  stickin’  news- 
papers in  a hole  in  a corner  shtone  to  show  future 
gin’rations  th’  progress  iv  crime  in  this  cinchry. 
They’d  lay  their  own  corner-shtone  f’r  all  iv  me. 
I’d  communicate  with  th’  pop’lace  be  means  iv  gin- 
ral  ordhers,  an’  I’d  make  it  a thing  worth  tellin’ 
about  to  see  th’  face  iv  th’  gr-reat  an’  good  King 
Dooley. 

“ Kings  is  makin’  thimsilves  too  common.  Now- 
adays an  arnychist  dhrops  into  a lunch-room  at  th’ 
railroad  depot  an’  sees  a man  settin’  on  a stool  atin’ 
a quarther  section  iv  a gooseb’ry  pie  an’  dhrinkin’  a 
glass  iv  buttermilk.  ‘ D’ye  know  who  that  is  ? ’ 
says  th’  lunch-counter  lady.  ‘ I do  not,’  says  th’ 
arnychist,  ‘but  be  th’  look  iv  him  he  ain’t  much.’ 
‘ That’s  th’  king,’  says  th’  lady.  ‘ Th’  king,  is  it,’ 

[ 10  ] ' 


DOINGS  OF  ANARCHISTS 


says  th’  arnychist.  ‘ Thin  here’s  f ’r  wan  king  less,’ 
he  says,  an’  ’tis  all  over.  A king  ought  to  be  a 
king  or  he  oughtn’t.  He  don’t  need  to  be  a good 
mixer.  If  he  wants  to  hang  on  he  must  keep  out 
iv  range.  ’Tis  th’  kings  an’  queens  that  thrusts  so 
much  in  th’  lilety  iv  their  people  that  they  live  in 
summer  resort  hotels  an’  go  out  walkin’  with  a dog 


that’s  hurted.  Th’  on’y  person  that  ought  to  be  able 
to  get  near  enough  a rale  king  to  kill  him  is  a jook, 
or  th’  likes  iv  that.  Th’  idee  iv  a man  from  Noo 
Jarsey  havin’  th’  chanst ! ” 

“ What  on  earth’s  to  be  done  about  thim  arny- 
chists?”  Mr.  Hennessy  asked.  “What  ails  thim 
annyhow  ? What  do  they  want  ? ” 

“ Th’  Lord  on’y  knows,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 

[ >97] 


DOINGS  OF  ANARCHISTS 


“ They  don’t  want  annything,  that’s  what  they  want. 
They  want  peace  on  earth  an’  th’  way  they  propose 
to  get  it  is  be  murdhrin’  ivry  man  that  don’t  agree 
with  thim.  They  think  we  all  shud  do  as  they 
please.  They’re  down  on  th’  polis  foorce  an’  in 
favor  iv  th’  pop’lace,  an’  whin  they’ve  kilt  a king 
they  call  on  th’  polis  to  save  thim  fr’m  th’  mob. 
An’  between  you  an’  me,  Hinnissy,  ivry  arnychist 
I’ve  knowed,  an’  I’ve  met  manny  in  me  time,  an’ 
quite,  law-abidin’  citizens  they  was,  too,  had  th’ 
makin’  iv  a thradeejan  in  him.  If  they  was  no 
newspapers  they’d  be  few  arnychists.  They  want 
to  get  their  pitchers  in  th’  pa-apers  an’  they  can’t  do 
it  be  wheelin’  bananas  through  th’  sthreets  or  milk- 
in’ a cow,  so  they  go  out  an’  kill  a king.  I used  to 
know  a man  be  th’  name  iv  Schmitt  that  was  a cob- 
bler be  profession  an’  lived  next  dure  but  wan  to 
me.  He  was  th’  dacintist  man  ye  iver  see.  He 
kep’  a canary  bur-rd,  an’  his  devotion  to  his  wife 
was  th’  scandal  iv  th’  neighborhood.  But  bless  my 
soul,  how  he  hated  kings.  He  cudden’t  abide  Cas- 
sidy afther  he  heerd  he  was  a dayscinded  fr’m  th’ 
kings  iv  Connock,  though  Cassidy  was  what  ye 
call  a prolotoorio  or  a talkin’  workin’man.  An’  th’ 
wan  king  he  hated  above  all  others  was  th’  king  iv 
Scholizwig-Holstein,  which  was  th’  barbarous  coun- 

[198] 


DOINGS  OF  ANARCHISTS 


thry  he  come  fr’m.  He  cud  talk  fairly  dacint  about 
other  kings,  but  this  wan — Ludwig  was  his  name 
an’  I seen  his  pitcher  in  th’  pa-apers  wanst — wud 
throw  him  into  a fit.  He  blamed  ivrything  that 
happened  to  Ludwig.  If  they  was  a sthrike  he 
charged  it  to  Ludwig.  If  Schwartzmeister  didn’t 
pay  him  f’r  half-solin’  a pair  iv  Congress  gaiters 
he  used  to  wear  in  thim  days,  he  tied  a sthring 
arround  his  finger  f’r  to  remind  him  that  he 
had  to  kill  Ludwig.  ‘ What  have  ye  again’  th’ 
king?  ’ says  I.  ‘ He  is  an  opprissor  iv  th’  poor,’  he 
says.  ‘ So  ar-re  ye,’  I says,  ‘ or  ye’d  mend  boots  free.’ 
‘He’s  explodin’  th’  prolotoorio,’  he  says.  ‘ Sure,’ 
says  I,  ‘ th’  prolotoorio  can  explode  thimsilves  pret- 
ty well,’  says  I.  ‘ He  oughtn’t  to  be  allowed  to  live 
in  luxury  while  others  starve,’  he  says.  ‘ An’  wud 
ye  be  killin’  a man  f’r  holdin’  a nice  job  ? ’ says  I. 
‘ What  good  wud  it  do  ye  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ I’d  be  th’ 
emancipator  iv  th’  people,’  says  he.  ‘Ye’d  have  th’ 
wurred  on  th’  coffin  lid,’  says  I.  ‘ Why,’  says  he, 
‘ think  iv  me,  Schmitt,  Owgoost  Schmitt,  stalkin’ 
forth  to  avinge  th’  woes  iv  th’  poor,’  he  says. 
‘ Loodwig,  th’  cursed,  goes  by.  I jumps  fr’m  behind 
a three  an’  society  is  freed  fr’m  th’  monsther,’  he 
says.  ‘ Think  iv  th’  glory  iv  it,’  he  says.  ‘ Ow- 
goost Schmitt,  emancipator,’  he  says.  ‘ I’ll  prove  to 

[ >99] 


DOINGS  OF  ANARCHISTS 


Mary  Ann  that  I’m  a man,’  he  says.  Mary  Ann 
was  his  wife.  Her  maiden  name  was  Riley.  She 
heard  him  say  it.  ‘ Gus,’  says  she,  ‘ if  iver  I hear  iv 
ye  shootin’  e’er  a king  I’ll  lave  ye,’  she  says. 

“ Well,  sir,  I thought  he  was  jokin’,  but  be  hivins, 
wan  day  he  disappeared,  an’  lo  an’  behold,  two 
weeks  afther  I picks  up  a pa-aper  an’  r-reads  that 
me  brave  Schmitt  was  took  up  be  th’  polis  f ’r  thryin’ 
to  cop  a monarch  fr’m  behind  a three.  I sint  him  a 
copy  iv  a pa-aper  with  his  pitcher  in  it,  but  I don’t 
know  if  iver  he  got  it.  He’s  over  there  now  an’  his 
wife  is  takin’  in  washin’. 

“ It’s  vanity  that  makes  arnychists,  Hinnissy — 
vanity  an’  th’  habits  kings  has  nowadays  iv  bein’  as 
common  as  life  insurance  agents.” 

“ I don’t  like  kings,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ but  I 
like  arnychists  less.  They  ought  to  be  kilt  off  as 
fast  as  they’re  caught.” 

“ They’ll  be  that,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ But  kill- 
in’ thim  is  like  wringin’  th’  neck  iv  a mickrobe.” 


[ 200  ] 


ANGLO-AMERICAN 

SPORTS 


INNISSY,  if  iver  we  have  war  with  what 
me  frind  Carl  Schurz’d  call  th’  Mother 
Counthry,  it’ll  not  come  fr’m  anny  Vin- 
nyzwalan  question.  Ye  can’t  get  me 
excited  over  th’  throbbin’  debate  on  th’  location  iv 
th’  Orynocoo  River  or  whether  th’  miners  that  go  to 
Alaska  f’r  goold  ar-re  buried  be  th’  Canajeen  or  th’ 
American  authorities.  Ye  bet  ye  can’t.  But  some 
day  we’ll  be  beat  in  a yacht  r-race  or  done  up  at  fut- 
ball  an’  thin  what  Hogan  calls  th’  dogs  iv  war’ll 
break  out  iv  th’  kennel  an’  divastate  th’  wurruld.” 
“Well,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  complacently,  “if 
we  wait  f’r  that  we  might  as  well  disband  our  navy.” 
“ I dinnaw  about  that,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ I din- 
naw  about  that ; afther  ye  left  to  investigate  th’  ir’n 
foundhries  an’  other  pitcheresque  roons  iv  this  mis- 

[ 201] 


H 


ANGLO-AMERICAN  SPORTS 


guided  counthry,  I wint  out  to  give  a few  raw  rahs 
f ’r  me  fellow  colleejens,  who  was  attimptin’  to  dim- 
onsthrate  their  supeeryority  over  th’  effete  scholars 
iv  England  at  what  I see  be  th’  pa-apers  is  called  th’ 
Olympian  games.  Ye  get  to  th’  Olympian  games 
be  suffocation  in  a tunnel.  Whin  ye  come  to,  ye 
pay  four  shillin’s  or  a dollar  in  our  degraded  cur- 
rency, an’  stand  in  th’  sun  an’  look  at  th’  Prince  iv 
Wales.  Th’  Prince  iv  Wales  looks  at  ye,  too,  but 
he  don’t  see  ye. 

“ Me  frind,  th’  American  ambassadure  was  there, 
an’  manny  iv  th’  seats  iv  lamin’  in  th’  gran’  stand 
was  occupied  be  th’  flower  iv  our  seminaries  iv  med- 
itation or  thought  conservatories.  I r-read  it  in  th’ 
pa-apers.  At  th’  time  I come  in  they  was  recitin’  a 
pome  fr’m  th’  Greek,  to  a thoughtful-lookin’  young 
profissor  wearin’  th’  star-spangled  banner  f ’r  a neck- 
tie an’  smokin’  a cigareet.  ‘ Now,  boys,’  says  th’ 
profissor,  ‘ all  together.’  ‘ Rickety,  co-ex,  co-ex, 
hullabaloo,  bozoo,  bozoo,  Harvard,’  says  th’  lads.  I 
was  that  proud  iv  me  belovid  counthry  that  I wanted 
to  take  off  me  hat  there  an’  thin  an’  give  th’  colledge 
yell  iv  th’  Ar-rchey  road  reform  school.  But  I 
was  resthrained  be  a frind  iv  mine  that  I met  cornin’ 
over.  He  was  fr’m  Matsachoosetts,  an’  says  he: 
‘Don’t  make  a disturbance,’ he  says.  ‘We’ve  got 

[ 202  ] 


ANGLO-AMERICAN  SPORTS 


to  create  a fav’rable  impression  here,’  he  says,  ‘ Th’ 
English,’  he  says,  ‘ niver  shows  enthusyasm,’  he  says. 
‘’Tis  regarded  as  unpolite,’  he  says.  ‘If  ye  yell,’ 
he  says,  ‘they’ll  think  we  want  to  win,’  he  says,  ‘an’ 
we  didn’t  come  over  here  to  win,’  he  says.  ‘ Let  us 
show  thim,’  he  says,  ‘ that  we’re  gintlemen,  be  it  iver 


so  painful,’  he  says.  An’  I resthrained  mesilf  be 
puttin’  me  fist  in  me  mouth. 

“ They  was  an  Englishman  standin’  behind  me, 
Hinnissy,  an’  he  was  a model  iv  behaviour  f’r  all 
Americans  intindin’  to  take  up  their  homes  in  Cubia. 
Ye  cudden’t  get  this  la-ad  war-rmed  up  if  ye  built  a 
fire  undher  him.  He  had  an  eye-glass  pinned  to  his 
face  an’  he  niver  even  smiled  whin  a young  gintle- 
man  fr’m  Harvard  threw  a sledge  hammer  wan  mile, 

[ 2°3  ] 


ANGLO-AMERICAN  SPORTS 


two  inches.  A fine  la-ad,  that  Harvard  man,  but  if 
throwin’  th’  hammer’s  spoort,  thin  th’  rowlin’  mills  is 
th’  athletic  cintre  iv  our  belovid  counthry.  Whin 
an  Englishman  jumped  further  thin  another  la-ad, 
me  frind  th’  Ice-box,  says  he : ‘ H’yah,  h’yah ! ’ So 
whin  an  American  la-ad  lept  up  in  th’  air  as  though 
he’d  been  caught  be  th’  anchor  iv  a baloon,  I says : 
‘ H’yah,  h’yah ! ’ too.  Whin  a sign  iv  th’  effete  aris- 
tocracy iv  England  done  up  sivral  free-bor-rn  Amer- 
icans fr’m  Boston  in  a fut  r-race,  me  frind  the  Far- 
thest North,  he  grabs  his  wan  glass  eye  an’  says  he  : 
‘Well  r-run,  Cambridge!’  he  says;  ‘Well  r-run,’ 
he  says.  An’  ‘ Well  r-run,  whativer  colledge  ye’re 
fr’m,’  says  I,  whin  wan  iv  our  la-ads  jumped  over  a 
fence  ahead  iv  some  eager  but  consarvative  English 
scholars. 

“Well,  like  a good  game,  it  come  three  an’ three. 
Three  times  had  victhry  perched  upon  our  banner 
an’  thrice  — I see  it  in  th’  pa-aper  — had  th’  flag 
iv  th’  mother  counthry  proclaimed  that  English- 
men can  r-run.  It  was  thryin’  on  me  narves  an’  I 
wanted  to  yell  whin  th’  tie  was  r-run  off  but  th’  man 
fr’m  Matsachoosetts  says : ‘ Contain  ye’ersilf,’  he 
says.  ‘Don’t  allow  ye’er  frinzied  American  spirit 
to  get  away  with  ye’er  manners,’  he  says.  ‘ Obsarve.’ 
he  says,  ‘ th’  ca’m  with  which  our  brother  Anglo- 

[204] 


ANGLO-AMERICAN  SPORTS 


Saxon  views  th’  scene,’  he  says.  ‘ Ah ! ’ he  says, 
‘ they’re  off  an’  be  th’ jumpin’  George  Wash’nton,  I 
bet  ye  that  fellow  fr’m  West  Newton’ll  make  that 
red-headed,  long-legged,  bread-ballasted  Englishman 
look  like  thirty  cints.  Hurroo,’  he  says.  ‘ Go  on, 
Harvard,’  he  says.  ‘ Go  on,’  he  says.  ‘ Rah,  rah, 
rah,’  he  says.  ‘ Ate  him  up,  chew  him  up,’  he  says. 
‘ Harvard  ! ’ he  says. 

“ I looked  ar-round  at  th’  ca’m  dispassyonate  Eng- 
lishman. He  dhropped  his  eye-glass  so  he  cud  see 
th’  race  an’  he  had  his  cane  in  th’  air.  ‘ Well  r-run,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Well  r-run,  Cambridge,’  he  says.  ‘ Pull 
him  down,’  he  says.  ‘ Run  over  him,’  he  says. 
‘ Thrip  him  up,’  he  says.  ‘ They  can’t  r-run,’  he 
says,  ‘ except  whin  they’re  Ph’lipinos  behind  thim,’ 
he  says.  ‘Well  r-run,’  he  says,  an’  he  welted  th’ 
man  fr’m  Matsachoosetts  with  his  cane.  ‘ Be  care- 
ful what  ye’re  doin’  there,’  says  th’  Anglo-Saxon. 
‘ If  it  wasn’t  f ’r  th’  ’liance  I’d  punch  ye’er  head  off,’ 
he  says.  ‘ An’,’  says  th’  ca’m  Englishman,  ‘ if  it 
wasn’t  f ’r  our  common  hurtage,’  he  says,  ‘ I’d  make 
ye  jump  over  th’  gran’  stand,’  he  says.  ‘ Th’  Eng- 
lish always  cud  beat  us  r-runnin’,’  says  the  sage  iv 
Matsachoosetts.  ‘ Th’  Americans  start  first  an’  fin- 
ishes last,’  says  th’  Englishman.  An’  I had  to  pull 
thim  apart. 


[2°5] 


ANGLO-AMERICAN  SPORTS 


“ Whether  it  is  that  our  American  colleejans 
spinds  too  much  iv  their  lung  power  in  provin’  their 
devotion  to  what  Hogan  calls  their  Almy  Matthers 
or  not,  I dinnaw,  but  annyhow,  we  had  to  dhrag  th’ 
riprisintative  iv  our  branch  iv  th’  Anglo-Saxon  an’ 
Boheemyan  civilization  in  th’  three-mile  race  fr’m 
undher  two  thousand  iv  our  cousins  or  brothers-in- 
law  that  was  ca’mly  an’  soberly,  but  hurridly  an’ 
noisily  chargin’  acrost  th’  thrack  to  cheer  their  own 
man. 

“Me  frind  fr’m  Matsachoosets  was  blue  as  we 
winded  our  way  to  th’  sthrangulation  railway  an’ 
started  back  r’r  home.  ‘ I’m  sorry,’  he  says,  ‘ to 
lose  me  timper,’  he  says,  ‘ but,’  he  says,  ‘ afther  all 
th’  pretinded  affection  iv  these  people  f’r  us,’  he 
says,  ‘ an’  afther  all  we’ve  done  f’r  thim  in  Alaska 
an’  — an’  ivrywhere,’  he  says,  ‘an’  thim  sellin’ 
us  coal  whin  they  might’ve  sold  it  to  th’  Span- 
yards  if  th’  Spanyards’d  had  th’  money,’  he  says,  ‘ to 
see  th’  conduct  iv  that  coarse  an’  brutal  English- 
man — ’ ‘ Th’  wan  that  won  th’  r-race  ? ’ says  I. 

‘ Yes,’  he  says.  ‘No,  I mean  th’  wan  that  lammed 
me  with  his  cane,’  he  says.  ‘ If  it  hadn’t  been,’ 
he  says,  ‘ that  we’re  united,’  he  says,  ‘ be  a com- 
mon pathrimony,’  he  says,  ‘ I’d’ve  had  his  life,’  he 
says.  ‘ Ye  wud  so,’  says  I,  ‘ an’  ye’re  r-right,’  I says. 

[206] 


ANGLO-AMERICAN  SPORTS 

‘ If  all  th’  la-ads  enthered  into  th’  r-races  with  th’  same 
spirit  ye  show  now,’  I says,  ‘ th’  English  flag’d  be 
dhroopin’  fr’m  th’  staff,  an’  Cyrus  Bodley  iv  Wad- 
ham,  Mass.,  ’d  be  paintin’  th’  stars  an’  sthripes  on  th’ 
Nelson  monnymint,’  I says.  ‘ Whin  we  hated  th’ 
English,’  I says,  ‘ an’  a yacht  r-race  was  li’ble  to  end 
in  a war  message  fr’m  the  prisidint,  we  used  to  bate 
thim,’  I says.  ‘Now,’  says  I,  ‘whin  we’re  afraid  to 
injure  their  feelin’s,’  I says,  ‘ an’  whin  we  ’pologise 
befure  we  punch,  they  bate  us,’  I says.  ‘ They’re 
used  to  ’pologisin’  with  wan  hand  an’  punchin’  with 
th’  other,’  I says.  ‘ Th’  on’y  way  is  th’  way  iv  me 
cousin  Mike,’  I says.  ‘ He  was  a gr-reat  rassler  an’ 
whin  he  had  a full  Nelson  on  th’  foolish  man  that 
wint  again  him,  he  used  to  say,  ‘Dear  me,  am  I 
breakin’  ye’er  neck,  I hope  so.’ 

“ But  th’  Matsachoosetts  man  didn't  see  it  that 
way.  An’  some  time,  I tell  ye,  Hinnissy,  an’  Eng- 
lishman’ll  put  th’  shot  wan  fut  further  than  wan  iv 
our  men  th’  Lord  save  us  fr’m  th’  disgrace ! — an’  th’ 
next  day  we’ll  invade  Canada.” 

“ We  ought  to  do  it,  annyhow,”  said  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy  stoutly. 

“We  wud,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “if  we  were  sure 
we  cud  lave  it  aftherwards.” 


[207] 


VOICES  FROM  THE 
TOMB 


DON’T  think,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ that 
me  frind  Willum  Jennings  Bryan  is  as 
good  an  orator  as  he  was  four  years 
ago.” 

“He’s  th’  grandest  talker  that’s  lived  since  Dan’l 
O’Connell,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“Ye’ve  heerd  thim  all  an’  ye  know,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley.  “ But  I tell  ye  he’s  gone  back.  D’ye 
mind  th’  time  we  wint  down  to  th’  Coleesyum  an’ 
he  come  out  in  a black  alapaca  coat  an’  pushed  into 
th’  air  th’  finest  wurruds  ye  iver  heerd  spoke  in  all 
ye’er  bor-rn  days?  ’Twas  a balloon  ascinsion  an’ 
th’  las’  days  iv  Pompey  an’  a blast  on  th’  canal  all  in 
wan.  I had  to  hold  on  to  me  chair  to  keep  fr’m 
goin’  up  in  th’  air,  an’  I mind  that  if  it  hadn’t  been 
f ’r  a crack  on  th’  head  ye  got  fr’m  a dillygate  fr’m 

[ 2o9  ] 


VOICES  FROM  THE  TOMB 


Westconsin  ye’d  ’ve  been  in  th’  hair  iv  Gin’ral 
Bragg.  Dear  me,  will  ye  iver  f ’rget  it,  th’  way  he 
pumped  it  into  th’  pluthocrats?  ‘ I tell  ye  here  an’ 
now,’  he  says,  ‘ they’se  as  good  business  men  in  th’ 
quite  counthry  graveyards  iv  Kansas  as  ye  can 
find  in  the  palathial  lunch-counthers  iv  Wall  street,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Whin  I see  th’  face  iv  that  man  who 
looks  like  a two-dollar  pitcher  iv  Napolyeon  at 
Saint  Heleena,’  he  says,  ‘ I say  to  mesilf,  ye  shall 
not — ye  shall  not’ — what  th’  divvle  is  it  ye  shall  not 
do,  Hinnissy?” 

“Ye  shall  not  crucify  mankind  upon  a crown  iv 
thorns,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“Right  ye  ar-re,  I forgot,”  Mr.  Dooley  went  on. 
“ Well,  thim  were  his  own  wurruds.  He  was  young 
an’  he  wanted  something  an’  he  spoke  up.  He’d 
been  a rayporther  on  a newspaper  an’  he’d  rather  be 
prisidint  thin  write  anny  longer  f ’r  th’  pa-aper,  an’ 
he  made  th’  whole  iv  th’  piece  out  iv  his  own  head. 

“ But  nowadays  he  has  tin  wurruds  f’r  Thomas 
Jefferson  an’  th’  rest  iv  th’  sage  crop  to  wan  f’r 
himsilf.  ‘ Fellow-dimmycrats,’  he  says,  ‘ befure  go- 
in’  anny  farther,  an’  maybe  farin’  worse,  I reluctantly 
accipt  th’  nommynation  f’r  prisidint  that  I have 
caused  ye  to  offer  me,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  good  luck  to 
me,’  he  says.  ‘ Seein’  th’  counthry  in  th’  condition 

[210] 


VOICES  FROM  THE  TOMB 


it  is,’  he  says,  ‘I  cannot  rayfuse,’  he  says.  ‘I  will 
now  lave  a subject  that  must  be  disagreeable  to 
manny  iv  ye  an’  speak  a few  wurruds  fr’m  th’  fa- 
thers iv  th’  party,  iv  whom  there  ar-re  manny,’  he 
says,  ‘though  no  shame  to  th’  party,  f’r  all  iv  that,’ 
he  says.  ‘ Thomas  Jefferson,  th’  sage  iv  Monticello, 
says:  “Ye  can’t  make  a silk  purse  out  iv  a sow’s 

ear,”  a remark  that  will  at  wanst  recall  th’  sayin’  iv 
Binjamin  Franklin,  th’  sage  iv  Camden,  that“th’ 
fartherest  way  ar-round  is  th’  shortest  way  acrost.” 
Nawthin’  cud  be  thruer  thin  that  onliss  it  is  th’  ipy- 
gram  iv  Andhrew  Jackson,  th’  sage  iv  Syr-acuse, 
that  “ a bur-rd  in  th’  hand  is  worth  two  in  th’  bush.” 
What  gran’  wurruds  thim  ar-re,  an’  how  they  must 
torture  th’  prisint  leaders  iv  th’  raypublican  party. 
Sam’l  Adams,  th’  sage  iv  Salem,  says : “ Laugh  an’ 

the  wurruld  laughs  with  ye,”  while  Pathrick  Hin- 
nery,  th’  sage  iv  Jarsey  City,  puts  it  that  “ ye  shud 
always  bet  aces  befure  th’  dhraw.”  Turnin’  farther 
back  into  histhry  we  find  that  Brian  Boru,  th’  sage 
iv  Munsther,  said:  “ Cead  mille  failthe,”  an’ Joolyus 
Caesar,  th’  sage  iv  Waukeesha,  says,  “Whin  ye’re 
in  Rome,  do  th’  Romans.”  Nebuchedneezar — 
there’s  a name  f’r  ye — th’  sage  iv  I-dinnaw-where, 
says:  “Ye  can’t  ate  ye’er  hay  an’  have  it.”  Solo- 

mon, th’  sage  iv  Sageville,  said,  “ Whin  a man’s 

[211  ] 


VOICES  FROM  THE  TOMB 


marrid  his  throubles  begins,”  an’  Adam,  th’ 
sage  iv  Eden,  put  it  that  “A  snake  in  th’  grass  is 
worth  two  in  th’  boots.”  Ye’ll  see  be  this,  me  good 
an’  thrue  frinds,  that  th’  voices  fr’m  th’  tombs  is 
united  in  wan  gran’  chorus  f ’r  th’  ticket  ye  have 
nommynated.  I will  say  no  more,  but  on  a future 
occasion,  whin  I’ve  been  down  in  southern  Injyanny, 
I’ll  tell  ye  what  th’  sages  an’  fathers  iv  th’  party  in 
th’  Ancient  an’  Hon’rable  Association  iv  Mound- 
Builders  had  to  say  about  th’  prisint  crisis.’ 

“’Tisn’t  Bryan  alone,  Mack’s  th’  same  way. 
They’re  both  ancesther  worshippers,  like  th’  Chinese, 
Hinnissy.  An’  what  I’d  like  to  know  is  what 
Thomas  Jefferson  knew  about  th’  throubles  iv  ye 
an’  me  ? Divvle  a wurrud  have  I to  say  again’ 
Thomas.  He  was  a good  man  in  his  day,  though 
I don’t  know  that  his  battin’  av’rage  ’d  be  high 
again’  th’  pitch  in’  iv  these  times.  I have  a gr-reat 
rayspict  f’r  the  sages  an’  I believe  in  namin’ 
sthreets  an’  public  schools  afther  thim.  But  suppose 
Thomas  Jefferson  was  to  come  back  here  now  an’ 
say  to  himsilf : ‘ They’se  a good  dimmycrat  up  in 

Ar-rchy  road  an’  I think  I’ll  dhrop  in  on  him  an’ 
talk  over  th’  issues  iv  th’  day.’  Well,  maybe  he 
cud  r-ride  his  old  gray  mare  up  an’  not  be  kilt  be 
the  throlley  cars,  an’  maybe  th’  la-ads ’d  think  he 

[212] 


VOICES  FROM  THE  TOMB 


was  crazy  an’  not  murdher  him  f’r  his  clothes.  An’ 
maybe  they  wudden’t.  But  annyhow,  suppose  he 
got  here,  an’  afther  he’d  fumbled  ar-round  at  th’ 
latch — f’r  they  had  sthrings  on  th’  dure  in  thim 
days — I let  him  in.  Well,  whin  I’ve  injooced  him 
to  take  a bowl  iv  red  liquor — f’r  in  his  time  th’ 
dhrink  was  white — an’  explained  how  th’  seltzer 
comes  out  an’  th’  cash  raygisther  wurruks,  an’ 
wather  is  dhrawn  fr’m  th’  fassit,  an’  gas  is  lighted 
fr’m  th’  burner,  an’  got  him  so  he  wud  not  bump  his 
head  again’  th’  ceilin’  ivry  time  th’  beer  pump  threw 
a fit — afther  that  we’d  talk  iv  the  pollytical  sit- 
uation. 

“ ‘ How  does  it  go  ? ’ says  Thomas.  ‘Well,’  says 
I,  ‘ it  looks  as  though  Ioway  was  sure  raypublican,’ 
says  I.  ‘Ioway4?’  says  he.  ‘What’s  that?’  says 
he.  ‘ Ioway,’  says  I,  * is  a state,’  says  I.  ‘ I niver 
heerd  iv  it,’  says  he.  ‘ Faith  ye  did  not,’  says  I. 
‘ But  it’s  a state  just  th’  same,  an’  full  iv  corn  an’ 
people,’  I says.  ‘ An’  why  is  it  raypublican  ? ’ says 
he.  ‘ Because,’  says  I,  ‘ th’  people  out  there  is  f’r 
holdin’  th’  Ph’lippeens,’  says  I.  ‘ What  th’  divvle 
ar-re  th’  Ph’lippeens?’  says  he.  ‘ Is  it  a festival,’ 
says  he,  ‘ or  a dhrink  ? ’ he  says.  ‘ Faith,  ’tis  small 
wondher  ye  don’t  know,’  says  I,  ‘ f’r  ’tis  mesilf  was 
weak  on  it  a year  ago,’  I says.  ‘ Th’  Ph’lippeens  is 

[ 2 1 3 ] 


VOICES  FROM  THE  TOMB 


an  issue,’  says  I,  ‘ an’  islands,’  says  I,  ‘ an’  a public 
nuisance,’  I says.  ‘ But,’  I says,  ‘ befure  we  go  anny 
further  on  this  subject,’  I says,  ‘ d’ye  know  where 
Minnysota  is,  or  Westconsin,  or  Utah,  or  Cali- 
fornya,  or  Texas,  or  Neebrasky1?’  says  I.  ‘I  do 
not,’  says  he.  ‘ D’ye  know  that  since  ye’er  death 
there  has  growed  up  on  th’  shore  iv  Lake  Mitchigan 
a city  that  wud  make  Rome  look  like  a whistlin’ 
station- — a city  that  has  a popylation  iv  eight  million 
people  till  th’  census  rayport  comes  out  ? ’ I says. 
‘ I niver  heerd  iv  it,’  he  says.  ‘ D’ye  know  that  I 
can  cross  th’  ocean  in  six  days,  an’  won’t ; that  if 
annything  doesn’t  happen  in  Chiny  I can  larn 
about  it  in  twinty-four  hours  if  I care  to  know ; 
that  if  ye  was  in  Wash’nton  I cud  call  ye  up  be 
tillyphone  an  ye’er  wire’d  be  busy  ? ’ I says,  ‘ I do 
not,’  says  Thomas  Jefferson.  4 Thin,’  says  I,  ‘don’t 
presume  to  advise  me,’  I says,  ‘ that  knows  these 
things  an’  manny  more,’  I says.  ‘ An’  whin  ye  go 
back  where  ye  come  fr’m  an’  set  down  with  th’  rest 
iv  th’  sages  to  wondher  whether  a man  cud  possibly 
go  fr’m  Richmond  to  Boston  in  a week,  tell  thim,’  I 
says,  ‘ that  in  their  day  they  r-run  a corner  grocery 
an’  to-day,’  says  I,  ‘we’re  op’ratin’  a sixteen-story 
department  store  an’  puttin’  in  ivrything  fr’m  an 
electhric  lightin’  plant  to  a set  iv  false  teeth,’  I says. 

[214] 


VOICES  FROM  THE  TOMB 


An’  I hist  him  on  his  horse  an’  ask  a polisman  to 
show  him  th’  way  home. 

“Be  hivins,  Hinnissy,  I want  me  advice  up-to- 
date,  an’  whin  Mack  an’  Willum  Jennings  tells  me 
what  George  Wash’nton  an’  Thomas  Jefferson 
said,  I says  to  thim  : ‘Gintlemen,  they  lamed  their 

thrade  befure  th’  days  iv  open  plumbin’,’  I says. 
‘ Tell  us  what  is  wanted  ye’ersilf  or  call  in  a jour- 
neyman who’s  wurrukin’  card  is  dated  this  cinchry,’ 
I says.  ‘An’  I’m  r-right  too,  Hinnissy.” 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  slowly,  “those  ol’ 
la-ads  was  level-headed.” 

“ Thrue  f ’r  ye,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ But  undher 
th’  new  iliction  laws  ye  can’t  vote  th’  cimitries.” 


[215] 


13he  NEGRO  PROBLEM 


HAT’S  goin’  to  happen  to  th’  naygur?” 
asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “he’ll  ay- 
ther  have  to  go  to  th’  north  an’  be  a sub- 
jick  race,  or  stay  in  th’  south  an’  be  an  objick  lesson. 
’Tis  a har-rd  time  he’ll  have,  annyhow.  I’m  not 
sure  that  I’d  not  as  lave  be  gently  lynched  in 
Mississippi  as  baten  to  death  in  New  York.  If 
I was  a black  man,  I’d  choose  th’  cotton  belt  in 
prifrince  to  th’  belt  on  th’  neck  fr’m  th’  polisman’s 
club.  I wud  so. 

“ I’m  not  so  much  throubled  about  th’  naygur 
whin  he  lives  among  his  opprissors  as  I am  whin  he 
falls  into  th’  hands  iv  his  liberators.  Whin  he’s  in 
th’  south  he  can  make  up  his  mind  to  be  lynched 
soon  or  late  an’  give  his  attintion  to  his  other 
pleasures  iv  composin’  rag-time  music  on  a banjo, 
an’  wurrukin’  f’r  th’  man  that  used  to  own  him  an’ 


THE  NEGRO  PROBLEM 


now  on’y  owes  him  his  wages.  But  ’tis  th’  divvle’s 
own  hardship  f’r  a coon  to  step  out  iv  th’  rooms  iv 
th’  S’ciety  f’r  th’  Brotherhood  iv  Ma-an  where  he’s 
been  r-readin’  a pome  on  th’  ‘ Future  of  th’  Moke’ 
an’  be  pursooed  be  a mob  iv  abolitionists  till  he’s 
dhriven  to  seek  polis  protection,  which,  Hinnissy, 
is  th’  polite  name  f’r  fracture  iv  th’  skull. 

“ I was  f’r  sthrikin’  off  th’  shackles  iv  th’  slave, 
me  la-ad.  ’Twas  thrue  I didn’t,  vote  f’r  it,  bein’ 
that  I heerd  Stephen  A.  Douglas  say  ’twas  oncon- 
stitootional,  an’  in  thim  days  I wud  go  to  th’  flure 
with  anny  man  f’r  th’  constitootion.  I’m  still 
with  it,  but  not  sthrong.  It’s  movin’  too  fast  f’r  me. 
But  no  matther.  Annyhow  I was  f’r  makin’  th’ 
black  man  free,  an’  though  I shtud  be  th’  south  as 
a spoortin’  proposition  I was  kind  iv  glad  in  me 
heart  whin  Gin’ral  Ulyss  S.  Grant  bate  Gin’ral  Lee 
an’  th’  rest  iv  th’  Union  officers  captured  Jeff  Davis. 
I says  to  mesilf  ‘ Now,’  I says,  ’th’  coon  ’ll  have  a 
chanst  f’r  his  life,’  says  I,  ‘ an’  in  due  time  we  may 
injye  him,’  I says. 

“ An’  sure  enough  it  looked  good  f’r  awhile,  an’ 
th’  time  come  whin  th’  occas’nal  dollar  bill  that 
wint  acrost  this  bar  on  pay  night  wasn’t  good  mon- 
ey onless  it  had  th’  name  iv  th’  naygur  on  it.  In 
thim  days  they  was  a young  la-ad — a frind  iv  wan 

[2,8] 


THE  NEGRO  PROBLEM 


iv  th’  Donohue  boys — that  wint  to  th’  public  school 
up  beyant,  an’  he  was  as  bright  a la-ad  as  ye’d  want 
to  see  in  a day’s  walk.  Th’  lamin’  iv  him  wud  sind 
Father  Kelly  back  to  his  grammar.  He  cud  spell 
to  make  a hare  iv  th’  hedge  schoolmasther,  he  was 
as  quick  at  figures  as  th’  iddycated  pig  they  showed 
in  th’  tint  las’  week  in  Haley’s  vacant  lot,  and  in 
joggerphy,  asthronomy,  algybbera,  jommethry,  chim- 
isthry,  physiojnomy,  bassoophly  an’  fractions,  I was 
often  har-rd  put  mesilf  to  puzzle  him.  I heerd  him 
gradyooate  an’  his  composition  was  so  fine  very 
few  cud  make  out  what  he  meant. 

“ I met  him  on  th’  sthreet  wan  day  afther  he  got 
out  iv  school.  ‘ What  ar-re  ye  goin’  to  do  f ’r  ye’er- 
silf,  Snowball,’  says  I — his  name  was  Andhrew  Jack- 
son  George  Wash’n’ton  Americus  Caslateras  Beres- 
ford  Vanilla  Hicks,  but  I called  him  ‘ Snowball,’ 
him  bein’  as  black  as  coal,  d’ye  see — I says  to  him : 
‘ What  ar-re  ye  goin’  to  do  f’r  ye’ersilf  ? ’ I says. 

‘ I’m  goin’  to  enther  th’  profission  iv  law,’  he  says, 
‘ where  be  me  acooman  an’  industhry  I hope,’  he 
says,  ‘f’r  to  rise  to  be  a judge,’  he  says,  ‘a  congriss- 
man,’  he  says,  ‘ a sinator,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  p’rhaps,’  he 
says,  ‘a  prisidint  iv  th’  United  States,’  he  says. 

‘ Theyse  nawthin  to  prevint,’  he  says.  ‘ Divvle  a 
thing,’  says  I.  ‘ Whin  we  made  ye  free,’  says  I, 

[219] 


THE  NEGRO  PROBLEM 


‘ we  opened  up  all  these  opporchunities  to  ye,’  says 
I.  ‘ Go  on,’  says  I,  ‘ an’  enjye  th’  wealth  an’  posi- 
tion conferred  on  ye  be  th’  constitootion,’  I says. 
‘ On’y,’  I says,  ‘ don’t  be  too  free,’  I says.  ‘ Th’ 
freedom  iv  th’  likes  iv  ye  is  a good  thing  an’  a little 
iv  it  goes  a long  way,’  I says,  ‘ an’  if  I ever  hear  iv 
ye  bein’  prisidint  iv  th’  United  States,’  I says,  ‘ I’ll 
take  me  whitewashing’  away  fr’m  ye’er  father,  ye 
excelsior  hair,  poached-egg  eyed,  projiny  iv  tar,’  I 
says,  f’r  me  Anglo-Saxon  feelin’  was  sthrong  in 
thim  days. 

“Well,  I used  to  hear  iv  him  afther  that  defind- 
in’  coons  in  th’  polis  coort,  an’  now  an’  thin  bein’ 
mintioned  among  th’  scatthrin’  in  raypublican  coun- 
ty con-vintions,  an’  thin  he  dhropped  out  iv  sight. 
’Twas  years  befure  I see  him  again.  Wan  day  I 
was  walkin’  up  th’  levee  smokin’  a good  tin  cint 
seegar  whin  a coon  wearin’  a suit  iv  clothes  that 
looked  like  a stained  glass  window  in  th’  house  iv 
a Dutch  brewer  an’  a pop  bottle  in  th’  fr-ront  iv  his 
shirt,  steps  up  to  me  an’  he  says : ‘ How  dy’e  do, 
Mistah  Dooley,’ says  he.  ‘Don’t  ye  know  me — 
Mistah  Hicks  ? ’ he  says.  ‘ Snowball,’  says  I.  ‘ Step 
inside  this  dureway,’  says  I,  ‘ less  Clancy,  th’  polis- 
man  on  th’  corner,  takes  me  f’r  an  octoroon,’  I says. 
‘ What  ar-re  ye  do-in’  ? ’ says  I.  ‘ How  did  ye  en- 

[220] 


THE  NEGRO  PROBLEM 


jye  th’  prisidincy?’  says  I.  He  laughed  an’  told 
me  th’  story  iv  his  life.  He  wint  to  practisin’  law 
an’  found  his  on’y  clients  was  coons,  an’  they  had  no 
assets  but  their  vote  at  th’  prim’ry.  Besides  a war- 
rant f ’r  a moke  was  the  same  as  a letther  iv  inthro- 
duction  to  th’  warden  iv  th’  pinitinchry.  Th’  on’y 
thing  left  f’r  th’  lawyer  to  do  was  to  move  f ’r  a new 
thrile  an’  afther  he’d  got  two  or  three  he  thought  ol’ 
things  was  th’  best  an’  ye  do  well  to  lave  bad  enough 
alone.  He  got  so  sick  iv  chicken  he  cudden’t  live 
on  his  fees  an’  he  quit  th’  law  an’  wint  into  journal- 
ism. He  r-run  ‘ Th’  Colored  Supplimint,’  but  it 
was  a failure,  th’  taste  iv  th’  public  lanin’  more  to 
quadhroon  publications,  an’  no  man  that  owned  a 
resthrant  or  theaytre  or  dhrygoods  store’d  put  in  an 
adver-tisemint  f’r  fear  th’  subscribers’d  see  it  an’ 
come  ar-round.  Thin  he  attimpted  to  go  into 
pollytics,  an’  th’  best  he  cud  get  was  carryin’  a 
bucket  iv  wather  f’r  a Lincoln  Club.  He  thried  to 
larn  a thrade  an’  found  th’  on’y  place  a naygur  can 
lam  a thrade  is  in  prison  an’  he  can’t  wurruk  at  that 
without  committin’  burglary.  He  started  to  take 
up  subscriptions  f’r  a sthrugglin’  church  an’  found 
th’  profission  was  overcrowded.  ‘ Fin’ly,’  says  he, 
‘ ’twas  up  to  me  to  be  a porther  in  a saloon  or  go 
into  th’  on’y  business,’  he  says,  ‘ in  which  me  race 

[221  ] 


THE  NEGRO  PROBLEM 

has  a chanst,’  he  says.  ‘What’s  that?’  says  I. 
‘ Craps,’  says  he.  ‘ I’ve  opened  a palachal  impory- 
ium,’  he  says,  ‘ where,’  he  says,  ‘ ’twud  please  me 
very  much,’  he  says,  ‘ me  ol’  abolitionist  frind,’  he 
says,  ‘ if  ye’d  dhrop  in  some  day,’  he  says,  ‘ an’  I’ll 
roll  th’ sweet,  white  bones  f ’r  ye,’  he  says.  ‘’Tis 
th’  hope  iv  me  people,’  he  says.  ‘ We  have  an 
even  chanst  at  ivry  other  pursoot,’  he  says,  ‘ but 
’tis  on’y  in  craps  we  have  a shade  th’  best  iv  it,’  he 
says. 

“ So  there  ye  ar-re,  Hinnissy.  An’  what’s  it  goin’ 
to  come  to,  says  ye  ? Faith,  I don’t  know  an’  th’ 
naygurs  don’t  know,  an’  be  hivins,  I think  if  th’ 
lady  that  wrote  th’  piece  we  used  to  see  at  th’  Hal- 
sted  Sthreet  Opry  House  come  back  to  earth,  she 
wudden’t  know.  I used  to  be  all  broke  up  about 
Uncle  Tom,  but  cud  I give  him  a job  tindin’  bar  in 
this  here  liquor  store  ? I freed  th’  slave,  Hinnissy, 
but,  faith,  I think  ’twas  like  tur-rnin’  him  out  iv  a 
panthry  into  a cellar.” 

“Well,  they  got  to  take  their  chances,”  said  Mr. 
Hennessy.  “Ye  can’t  do  annything  more  f’r  thim 
than  make  thim  free.” 

“Ye  can’t,”  said  Mr.  Dooley;  “ on’y  whin  ye  tell 
thim  they’re  free  they  know  we’re  on’y  sthringin’ 
thim.” 


[ 222  ] 


T5he  AMERICAN  STAGE 


’VE  niver  been  much  iv  a hand  f ’r  th’ 
theaytre,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “Whin 
I was  a young  man  an’  Crosby’s  Opry 
house  was  r-runnin’  I used  to  go  down 
wanst  in  a while  an’  see  Jawn  Dillon  throwin’  things 
around  f’r  th’  amusemint  iv  th’  popylace  an’  whin 
Shakespere  was  played  I often  had  a seat  in  th’ 
gal’ry,  not  because  I liked  th’  actin’,  d’ye  mind,  but 
because  I’d  heerd  me  frind  Hogan  speak  iv  Shake- 
spere. He  was  a good  man,  that  Shakespere,  but 
his  pieces  is  full  iv  th’  ol’  gags  that  I heerd  whin 
I was  a boy.  Th’  throuble  with  me  about  goin’  to 
plays  is  that  no  matther  where  I set  I cud  see  some 
hired  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves  argyin’  with  wan  iv 
his  frinds  about  a dog  fight  while  Romeo  was 
makin’  th’  kind  iv  love  ye  wuddent  want  ye’er 

[ 223  ] 


THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 


daughter  to  hear  to  Juliet  in  th’  little  bur-rd  cage 
they  calls  a balcony.  It  must ’ve  been  because  I 
wanst  knowed  a man  be  th’  name  iv  Gallagher  that 
was  a scene  painter  that  I cud  niver  get  mesilf  to 
th’  pint  iv  concedin’  that  th’  mountains  that  other 
people  agreed  was  manny  miles  in  th’  distance  was 
in  no  danger  iv  bein’  rubbed  off  th’  map  be  th’  coat- 
tails iv  wan  iv  th’  principal  char-ackters.  An’  I al- 
ways had  me  watch  out  to  time  th’  moon  whin  ’twas 
shoved  acrost  th’  sky  an’  th’  record  breakin’  iv  day 
in  th’  robbers’  cave  where  th’  robbers  don’t  dare  f’r  to 
shtep  on  the  rock  f’r  fear  they’ll  stave  it  in.  If  day 
iver  broke  on  th’  level  th’  way  it  does  on  th’  stage 
’twud  tear  th’  bastin’  threads  out  iv  what  Hogan 
calls  th’  firmymint.  Hogan  says  I haven’t  got  th’ 
dhramatic  delusion  an’  he  must  be  r-right  f’r  ye  can’t 
make  me  believe  that  twinty  years  has  elapsed  whin 
I know  that  I’ve  on’y  had  time  to  pass  th’  time  iv 
day  with  th’  bartinder  nex’  dure. 

“ Plays  is  upside  down,  Hinnissy,  an’  inside  out. 
They  begin  with  a full  statement  iv  what’s  goin’  to 
happen  an’  how  it’s  goin’  to  come  out  an’  thin  ye’re 
asked  to  forget  what  ye  heerd  an’  be  surprised  be  th’ 
outcome.  I always  feel  like  goin’  to  th’  office  an’ 
gettin’  me  money  or  me  lithograph  pass  back  afther 
th’  first  act. 


[224] 


THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 

“ Th’  way  to  write  a play  is  f’r  to  take  a book  an’ 
write  it  over  hindend  foremost.  They’re  puttin’  all 
books  on  th’  stage  nowadays.  Fox’s  ‘ Book  iv  Mar- 
tyrs’ has  been  done  into  a three-act  farce-comedy 
an’ll  be  projooced  be  Della  Fox,  th’  author,  nex’ 
summer.  Webster’s  ‘Onabridge  Ditchnry  ’ will  be 
brought  out  as  a society  dhrama  with  eight  hund- 
herd  thousan’  char-ackters.  Th’  ‘ Constitution  iv  th’ 
United  States  ’ (a  farce)  be  Willum  McKinley 
is  r-runnin’  to  packed  houses  with  th’  cillybrated 
thradeejan  Aggynaldoo  as  th’  villain.  In  th’  six- 
teenth scene  iv  th’  last  act  they’se  a naygur  lynchin’. 
James  H.  Wilson,  th’  author  iv  ‘ Silo  an’  Ensilage, 
a story  f’r  boys,’  is  dhramatizin’  his  cillybrated 
wurruk  an’  will  follow  it  with  a dhramatic  version 
iv  ‘ Sugar  Beet  Culture,’  a farm  play.  ‘ Th’  Famil- 
iar Lies  iv  Li  Hung  Chang  ’ is  expicted  to  do  well 
in  th’  provinces  an’  Hostetter’s  Almanac  has  all 
dates  filled,  I undherstand  th’  bible’ll  be  r-ready 
f’r  th’  stage  undher  th’  direction  iv  Einstein  an’  Op- 
perman  befure  th’  first  iv  th’  year.  Some  changes 
has  been  niciss’ry  f’r  to  adapt  it  to  stage  purposes, 
I see  be  th’  pa-apers.  Th’  authors  has  become  con- 
vinced that  Adam  an’  Eve  must  be  carrid  through 
th’  whole  play,  so  they  have  considerably  lessened 
th’  time  between  th’  creation  an’  th’  flood  an’  have 

[225  1 


THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 


made  Adam  an  English  nobleman  with  a shady  past 
an’  th’  Divvle  a Fr-rinch  count  in  love  with  Eve. 
They’re  rescued  be  Noah,  th’  faithful  boatman  who 
has  a comic  naygur  son.” 

“ I see  be  th’  pa-aper  th’  stage  is  goin’  to  th’  dogs 
what  with  it’s  Sappho’s  an’  th’  like  iv  that,”  said  Mr. 
Hennessy. 

“ Well,  it  isn’t  what  it  used  to  be,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley,  “ in  fli’  days  whin  ’twas  th’  purpose  iv  th’ 
hero  to  save  th’  honest  girl  from  the  clutches  iv 
th’  villin  in  time  to  go  out  with  him  an’  have  a 
shell  iv  beer  at  th’  Dutchman’s  downstairs.  In  th’ 
plays  nowadays  th’  hero  is  more  iv  a villain  thin  th’ 
villain  himsilf.  He’s  th’  sort  iv  a man  that  we  used 
to  heave  pavin’  shtones  at  whin  he  come  out  iv  th’ 
stage  dure  iv  th’  Halsted  Sthreet  Opry  House.  To 
be  a hero  ye’ve  first  got  to  be  an  Englishman,  an’  as 
if  that  wasn’t  bad  enough  ye’ve  got  to  have  com- 
mitted as  many  crimes  as  th’  late  H.  H.  Holmes. 
If  he’d  been  born  in  England  he’d  be  a hero.  Ye 
marry  a woman  who  swears  an’  dhrinks  an’  bets  on 
th’  races  an’  ye  quarrel  with  her.  Th’  r-rest  iv  th’ 
play  is  made  up  iv  hard  cracks  be  all  th’  char-ack- 
ters  at  each  others’  morals.  This  is  called  repartee 
be  th’  learned,  an’  Hogan.  Repartee  is  where  I 
say : ‘Ye  stole  a horse  ’ an’  ye  say  : ‘ But  think  iv 

[ 226  ] 


THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 


ye’er  wife  ! ’ In  Ar-rchy  r-road  ’tis  called  disordherly 
conduct.  They’se  another  play  on  where  a man 
r-runs  off  with  a woman  that’s  no  betther  thin  she 
ought  to  be.  He  bates  her  an’  she  marries  a burg- 
lar. Another  wan  is  about  a lady  that  ates  dinner 
with  a German.  He  bites  her  an’  she  hits  him  with 
a cabbage.  Thin  they’se  a play  about  an  English 
gintleman  iv  th’  old  school  who  times  to  make  a 
girl  write  a letter  f’r  him  an’  if  she  don’t  he’ll  tell  on 
her.  He  doesn’t  tell  an’  so  he’s  rewarded  with  th’ 
love  iv  th’  heroine,  an  honest  English  girl  out  f’r  th’ 
money. 

“ Nobody’s  marrid  in  th’  modhern  play,  Hin- 
nissy,  an’  that’s  a good  thing,  too,  f’r  annywan  that 
got  marrid  wud  have  th’  worst  iv  it.  In  th’  ol’ 
times  th’  la-ads  that  announces  what’s  goin’  to  hap- 
pen in  the  first  act,  always  promised  ye  a happy  mar- 
redge  in  th’  end  an’  as  ivrybody’s  lookin’  f’r  a hap- 
py marredge,  that  held  the  aujeence.  Now  ye  know 
that  th’  hero  with  th’  wretched  past  is  goin’  to  elope 
with  th’  dhrunken  lady  an’  th’  play  is  goin’  to  end 
with  th’  couples  prettily  divorced  in  th’  centher  iv 
th’  stage.  ’Tis  called  real  life  an’  mebbe  that’s  what 
it  is,  but  f’r  me  I don’t  want  to  see  real  life  on  th’ 
stage.  I can  see  that  anny  day.  What  I want  is 
f’r  th’  spotless  gintleman  to  saw  th’  la-ad  with  th’ 

[ 227  l 


THE  AMERICAN  STAGE 


cigareet  into  two-be-fours  an’  marry  th’  lady  that 
doesn’t  dhrink  much  while  th’  aujeence  is  puttin’  on 
their  coats.” 

“ Why  don’t  they  play  Shakespere  any  more  ? ” 
Mr.  Hennessy  asked. 

“I  undherstand,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “that  they’re 
goin’  to  dhramatize  Shakespere  whin  th’  dhramatizer 
gets  through  with  th’  ‘ Report  iv  th’  Cinsus  Depart- 
ment f’r  1899-1900.’  ” 


[228] 


TROUBLES  OF  A 
CANDIDATE 


WISHT  th’  campaign  was  over,”  said 
Mr.  Dooley. 

“ I wisht  it’d  begin,”  said  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy.  “ I niver  knew  annything  so 
dead.  They  ain’t  been  so  much  as  a black  eye  give 
or  took  in  th’  ward  an’  its  less  thin  two  months  to 
th’  big  day.” 

“’Twill  liven  up,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “I  begin  to 
see  signs  iv  th’  good  times  cornin’  again.  ’Twas 
on’y  th’  other  day  me  frind  Tiddy  Rosenfelt  opened 
th’  battle  mildly  be  insinuatin’  that  all  dimmycrats 
was  liars,  horse  thieves  an’  arnychists.  ’Tis  thrue  he 
apologized  f ’r  that  be  explainin’  that  he  didn’t  mean 
all  dimmycrats  but  on’y  those  that  wudden’t  vote 
f ’r  Mack  but  I think  he’ll  take  th’  copper  off  befure 
manny  weeks.  A ladin’  dimmycratic  rayformer  has 

[229] 


TROUBLES  OF  A CANDIDATE 


suggested  that  Mack  though  a good  man  f’r  an 
idjiot  is  surrounded  be  th’  vilest  scoundhrels  iver 
seen  in  public  life  since  th’  days  iv  Joolyus  Cresar. 
Th’  Sicrety  iv  th’  Threeasury  has  declared,  that  Mr. 
Bryan  in  sayin’  that  silver  is  not  convartible  be  th’ 
terms  iv  th’  Slatthry  bankin’  law  iv  1870,  an’  th’ 
sicond  clause  iv  th’  threaty  iv  Gansville,  has  com- 
mitted th’  onpard’nable  pollytical  sin  iv  so  con- 
sthructin’  th’  facts  as  to  open  up  th’  possibility  iv 
wan  not  knowin’  th’  thrue  position  iv  affairs,  misun- 
dhersthandin’  intirely.  If  he  had  him  outside  he’d 
call  him  a liar.  Th’  raypublicans  have  proved  that 
Willum  Jennings  Bryan  is  a thraitor  be  th’  letther 
written  be  Dr.  Lem  Stoggins,  th’  cillybrated  anti- 
thought agytator  iv  Spooten  Duyvil  to  Aggynaldoo 
in  which  he  calls  upon  him  to  do  nawthin’  till  he 
hears  fr’m  th’  doc.  Th’  letther  was  sint  through  th’ 
postal  authorities  an’  as  they  have  established  no 
post-office  in  Aggynaldoo’s  hat  they  cudden’t  de- 
liver it  an’  they  opened  it.  Upon  r-readin’  th’ 
letther  Horace  Plog  iv  White  Horse,  Minnesota,  has 
wrote  to  Willum  Jennings  Bryan  declarin’  that  if 
he  (Plog)  iver  went  to  th’  Ph’lippeens,  which  he 
wud’ve  done  but  f’r  th’  way  th’  oats  was  sproutin’ 
in  th’  stack,  an’  had  been  hit  with  a bullet  he’d  ix- 
pict  th’  Coroner  to  hold  Bryan  to  th’  gran’  jury. 

[ 23°  ] 


TROUBLES  OF  A CANDIDATE 


This  was  followed  be  th’  publication  iv  a letther 
fr’m  Oscar  L.  Swub  iv  East  Persepalis,  Ohio,  de- 
clarin’ that  his  sister  heerd  a cousin  iv  th’  man  that 
wash’d  buggies  in  a livery  stable  in  Canton  say 
Mack’s  hired  man  tol’  him  Mack’d  be  hanged  be- 
fure  he’d  withdraw  th’  ar-rmy  fr’m  Cuba. 

“ Oh,  I guess  th’  campaign  is  doin’  as  well  as  cud 
be  ixpicted.  I see  be  th’  raypublican  pa-apers  that 
Andhrew  Carnegie  has  come  out  f’r  Bryan  an’  has 
conthributed  wan  half  iv  his  income  or  five  hundhred 
millyon  dollars  to  th’  campaign  fund.  In  th’  dim- 
mycratic  pa-apers  I r-read  that  Chairman  Jim  Jones 
has  inthercipted  a letther  fr’m  the  Prince  iv  Wales 
to  Mack  congratulatin’  him  on  his  appintmint  as 
gintleman-in-waitin’  to  th’  queen.  A dillygation  iv 
Mormons  has  started  fr’m  dimmycratic  head- 
quarthers  to  thank  Mack  f’r  his  manly  stand  in  fa- 
vor iv  poly-gamy  an’  th’  raypublican  comity  has  un- 
dher  con-sideration  a letther  fr’m  long  term  criminals 
advisin’  their  colleagues  at  large  to  vote  f’r  Willum 
Jennings  Bryan,  th’  frind  iv  crime. 

“In  a few  short  weeks,  Hinnissy,  ’twill  not  be 
safe  f’r  ayether  iv  the  candydates  to  come  out  on  th’ 
fr-ront  porch  till  th’  waitin’  dillygations  has  been 
searched  be  a polisman.  ’Tis  th’  divvle’s  own  time 
th’  la-ads  that  r-runs  f’r  th’  prisidincy  has  since  that 

[231  ] 


TROUBLES  OF  A CANDIDATE 


ol’  boy  Burchard  broke  loose  again’  James  G. 
Blaine.  Sinitor  Jones  calls  wan  iv  his  thrusty 
hinchman  to  his  side,  an’  says  he  : ‘ Mike,  put  on  a 

pig-tail,  an’  a blue  shirt  an’  take  a dillygation  iv 
Chinnymen  out  to  Canton  an’  congratulate  Mack 
on  th’  murdher  iv  mission’ries  in  China.  An’,’  he 
says,  ‘ye  might  stop  off  at  Cincinnati  on  th’  way 
over  an’  arrange  f’r  a McKinley  an’  Rosenfelt  club 
to  ilict  th’  British  Consul  its  prisidint  an’  attack 
th’  office  iv  th’  German  newspaper,’  he  says.  Mark 
Hanna  rings  f’r  his  sicrety  an’,  says  he  : ‘ Have  ye 

got  off  th’  letther  fr’m  George  Fred  Willums  advisin’ 
Aggynaldoo  to  pizen  th’  wells ? ’ ‘Yes sir.’  ‘ An’ 
th’  secret  communication  fr’m  Bryan  found  on  an 
arnychist  at  Pattherson  askin’  him  to  blow  up  th’ 
White  House  ? ’ ‘ It’s  in  th’  hands  iv  th’  tyepwriter.’ 
* Thin  call  up  an  employmint  agency  an’  have  a 
dillygation  iv  Jesuites  dhrop  in  at  Lincoln,  with  a 
message  fr’m  th’  pope  proposin’  to  bur-rn  all  Prot- 
estant churches  th’  night  befure  iliction.’ 

“ I tell  ye,  Hinnissy,  th’  candydate  is  kept  mov- 
in’. Whin  he  sees  a dilly-gation  pikin’  up  th’  lawn 
he  must  be  r-ready.  He  makes  a flyin’  leap  f’r  th’ 
chairman,  seizes  him  by  th’  throat  an’  says : ‘ I 

thank  ye  f’r  th’  kind  sintimints  ye  have  conveyed. 
I am,  indeed,  as  ye  have  remarked,  th’  riprisintative 

[232] 


TROUBLES  OF  A CANDIDATE 


iv  th’  party  iv  manhood,  honor,  courage,  liberality 
an’  American  thraditions.  Take  that  back  to  Jimmy 
Jones  an’  tell  him  to  put  it  in  his  pipe  an’  smoke 
it.’  With  which  he  bounds  into  th’  house  an’  locks 
the  dure  while  th’  baffled  conspirators  goes  down  to 
a costumer  an’  changes  their  disguise.  If  th’  future 
prisidint  hadn’t  been  quick  on  th’  dhraw  he’d  been 
committed  to  a policy  iv  sthranglin’  all  the  girl 
babies  at  birth. 

“No,  ’tis  no  aisy  job  bein’  a candydate,  an’  ’twud 
be  no  easy  job  if  th’  game  iv  photygraphs  was  th’ 
on’y  wan  th’  candydates  had  to  play.  Willum  Jen- 
nings Bryan  is  photygraphed  smilin’  back  at  his 
smilin’  corn  fields,  in  a pair  iv  blue  overalls  with  a 
scythe  in  his  hand  borrid  fr’m  th’  company  that’s 
playin’  ‘ Th’  Ol’  Homestead,’  at  th’  Lincoln  Gran’ 
Opry  House.  Th’  nex’  day  Mack  is  seen  mendin’ 
a rustic  chair  with  a monkey  wrinch,  Bryan  has  a 
pitcher  took  in  th’  act  iv  puttin’  on  a shirt  marked 
with  th’  union  label,  an’  they’se  another  photygraph 
iv  Mack  carryin’  a scuttle  iv  coal  up  th’  cellar 
stairs.  An’  did  ye  iver  notice  how  much  th’  candy- 
dates  looks  alike,  an’  how  much  both  iv  thim  looks 
like  Lydia  Pinkham?  Thim  wondherful  boardhin’- 
house  smiles  that  our  gifted  leaders  wears,  did  ye 
iver  see  annythin’  so  entrancin’?  Whin  th’  las’ 

[233] 


TROUBLES  OF  A CANDIDATE 


photygrapher  has  packed  his  ar-rms  homeward  I can 
see  th’  gr-reat  men  retirin’  to  their  rooms  an’  lettin’ 
their  faces  down  f’r  a few  minyits  befure  puttin’ 
thim  up  again  in  curl-pa-apers  f’r  th’  nex’  day  dis- 
play. Glory  be,  what  a relief ’twill  be  f’r  wan  iv 
thim  to  raysume  permanently  th’  savage  or  fam’ly 
breakfast  face  th’  mornin’  afther  iliction ! What  a 

ravlief  ’twill  be  to  no  f’r  sure  that  th’  man  at  th’ 

* 

dure  bell  is  on’y  th’  gas  collector  an’  isn’t  loaded 
with  a speech  iv  thanks  in  behalf  iv  th’  Spanish 
Gover’mint ! What  a relief  to  snarl  at  wife  an’ 
frinds  wanst  more,  to  smoke  a seegar  with  th’  thrust 
magnate  that  owns  th’  cider  facthry  near  th’  station, 
to  take  ye’er  nap  in  th’  afthernoon  undisthurbed  be 
th’  chirp  iv  th’  snap-shot!  ’Tis  th’  day  afther  ilic- 
tion I’d  like  f’r  to  be  a candydate,  Hinnissy,  no 
matther  how  it  wint.” 

“An’  what’s  become  iv  th’  vice-prisidintial  can- 
dydates  ? ” Mr.  Hennessy  asked. 

“Well,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “Th’  las’  I heerd  iv 
Adly,  I didn’t  hear  annythin’,  an’  th’  las’  I heerd  iv 
Tiddy  he’d  made  application  to  th’  naytional  com- 
ity f’r  th’  use  iv  Mack  as  a soundin’  board.” 


[ 234 1 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


T’S  always  been  a wondher  to  me,”  said 
Mr.  Hennessy,  “ ye  niver  marrid.” 

“ It’s  been  a wondher  to  manny,” 
Mr.  Dooley  replied  haughtily.  “ May- 
be if  I’d  been  as  aisy  pleased  as  most — an’  this  is 
not  sayin’  annything  again  you  an’  ye’ers,  Hinnisy, 
f ’r  ye  got  much  th’  best  iv  it  — I might  be  th’ 
father  iv  happy  childher  an’  have  money  in  th’  bank 
awaitin’  th’  day  whin  th’  intherest  on  th’  morgedge 
fell  due.  ’Tis  not  f’r  lack  iv  opportunities  I’m 
here  alone,  I tell  ye  that  me  bucko,  f’r  th’  time  was 
whin  th’  sound  iv  me  feet’d  brings  more  heads  to  th’ 
windies  iv  Ar-rchey  r-road  thin’d  bob  up  to  see 
ye’er  fun’ral  go  by.  An’  that’s  manny  a wan.” 

“ Ah,  well,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ I was  but  jok- 
in’ ye.”  His  tone  mollified  his  friend,  who  went  on : 
“ To  tell  ye  th’  truth,  Hinnissy,  th’  raison  I niver 
got  marrid  was  I niver  cud  pick  a choice.  I’ve  th’ 

[235] 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


makin’  iv  an  ixcillint  ol’  Turk  in  me,  to  be  sure, 
f’r  I look  on  all  the  sect  as  iligeable  f ’r  me  hand  an’ 
I’m  on’y  resthrained  fr’m  r-rentin’  Lincoln  Park  f’r 
a home  an’  askin’  thim  all  to  clave  on’y  to  me,  be 
me  nachral  modesty  an’  th’  laws  iv  th’  State  iv  II- 
linye.  ’Twas  always  so  with  me  an’  I think  it  is  so 
with  most  men  that  dies  bachelors.  Be  r-readin’ 
th’  pa-apers  ye’d  think  a bachelor  was  a man  bor-rn 
with  a depraved  an’  parvarse  hathred  iv  wan  iv  our 
most  cherished  institootions,  an’  anti-expansionist 
d’ye  mind.  But  ’tis  no  such  thing.  A bachelor’s 
a man  that  wud  extind  his  benificint  rule  over  all 
th’  female  wurruld,  fr’m  th’  snow-capped  girls  iv 
Alaska  to  th’  sunny  Cileens  iv  th’  Passyfic.  A mar- 
rid  man’s  a person  with  a limited  affection — a pro- 
tictionist  an’  anti-expansionist,  a mugwump,  be 
hivins.  ’Tis  th’  bachelor  that’s  keepin’  alive  th’ 
rivrince  f’r  th’  sect. 

“ Whin  I was  a young  man,  ye  cud  search  fr’m 
wan  end  iv  th’  town  to  th’  other  f’r  me  akel  with 
th’  ladies.  Ye  niver  see  me  in  them  days,  but  ’twas 
me  had  a rogue’s  eye  an’  a leg  far  beyant  th’  com- 
mon r-run  iv  props.  I cud  dance  with  th’  best  iv 
thim,  me  voice  was  that  sthrong  ’twas  impossible  to 
hear  annywan  else  whin  I sung  ‘ Th’  Pretty  Maid 
Milkin’  th’  Cow,’  an’  I was  dhressed  to  kill  on  Sun- 
il2 36] 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


dahs.  ’Twas  thin  I bought  th’  hat  ye  see  me  wear 
at  th’  picnic.  ’Twas  ‘Good  mornin’,  Misther  Doo- 
ley, an’  will  ye  come  in  an’  have  a cup  iv  tay,’  an’ 
‘ How  d’ye  do  Misther  Dooley,  I didn’t  see  ye  at 
mass  this  mornin’,’  an’  ‘ Martin,  me  boy,  dhrop  in 
an’  take  a hand  at  forty-fives.  Th’  young  ladies 
has  been  askin’  me  ar-re  ye  dead.’  I was  th’  pop’- 
lar  idol,  ye  might  say,  an’  manny’s  th’  black  look  I 
got  over  th’  shouldher  at  picnic  an’  wake.  But  I 
minded  thim  little.  If  a bull  again  me  come  fr’m 
th’  pope  himsilf  in  thim  days  whin  me  heart  was 
high,  I’d  tuck  it  in  me  pocket  an’  say : ‘ I’ll  r-read 
it  whin  I get  time.’ 

“ Well,  I’d  take  one  iv  th’  girls  out  in  me  horse 
an’  buggy  iv  a Sundah  an’  I’d  think  she  was  th’ 
finest  in  th’  wurruld  an’  I’d  be  sayin’  all  kinds  iv 
jokin’  things  to  her  about  marredge  licenses  bein’ 
marked  down  on  account  iv  th’  poor  demand  an’ 
how  th’  parish  priest  was  thinkin’  iv  bein’  trans- 
ferred to  a parish  where  th’  folks  was  more  kindly 
disposed  to  each  other  an’  th’  likes  iv  that,  whin 
out  iv  th’  corner  iv  me  eye  I’d  see  another  girl  go 
by,  an’  bless  me  if  I cud  keep  th’  lid  iv  me  r-right 
eye  still  or  hold  me  tongue  fr’m  such  unfortchnit 
remark  as:  ‘That  there  Molly  Heaney’s  th’  fine 
girl,  th’  fine,  sthrappin’  girl,  don’t  ye  think  so  ? ’ 

[ 237  J 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


Well,  ye  know,  afther  that  I might  as  well  be 
dhrivin’  an  ice  wagon  as  a pleasure  rig;  more  thin 
wanst  I near  lost  th’  tip  iv  me  nose  in  th’  jamb  iv 
th’  dure  thryin’  to  give  an  affictshionate  farewell. 
An’  so  it  wint  on,  till  I got  th’  repytation  iv  a flirt 
an’  a philandhrer  f’r  no  raison  at  all,  d’ye  mind, 
but  me  widespread  fondness.  I like  thim  all,  dark 
an’  light,  large  an’  small,  young  an’  old,  marrid  an’ 
single,  widdied  an’  divorced,  an’  so  I niver  marrid 
annywan.  But  ye’ll  find  me  photygraft  in  some 
albums  an’  me  bills  in  more  thin  wan  livery  stable. 

“ I think  marrid  men  gets  on  th’  best  f’r  they 
have  a home  an’  fam’ly  to  lave  in  th’  mornin’  an’ 
a home  an’  fam’ly  to  go  back  to  at  night;  that 
makes  thim  wurruk.  Some  men’s  domestic  throu- 
bles  dhrives  thim  to  dhrink,  others  to  labor.  Ye 
r-read  about  a man  becomin’  a millyonaire  an’  ye 
think  he  done  it  be  his  own  exertions  whin  ’tis 
much  again  little  ’twas  th’  fear  iv  cornin’  home 
impty  handed  an’  dislike  iv  stayin’  ar-round  th’ 
house  all  day  that  made  him  rich.  Misther  Stand- 
ard He  takes  in  millyons  in  a year  but  he  might  be 
playin’  dominoes  in  an  injine  house  if  it  wasn’t  f’r 
Mrs.  Standard  lie.  ’Tis  th’  thought  iv  that  dear 
quiet  lady  at  home,  in  her  white  cap  with  her  ca’m 
motherly  face,  waitin’  patiently  f’r  him  with  a bell- 

[238] 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


punch  that  injooces  him  to  put  a shtick  iv  dinny- 
mite  in  somebody  else’s  ile  well  an’  bury  his  se- 
curities whin  th’  assissor  comes  ar-round.  Near 
ivry  man’s  property  ought  to  be  in  wife’s  name  an’ 
most  iv  it  is. 

“But  with  a bachelor  ’tis  different.  Ye  an’  I 
ar-re  settin’  here  together  an’  Clancy  dhrops  in. 
Clancy’s  wife’s  away  an’  he’s  out  f’r  a good  time  an’ 
he  comes  to  me  f’r  it.  A bachelor’s  f’r  th’  enjy- 
mint  of  his  marrid  frinds’  vacations.  Whin  Clancy’s 
wife’s  at  home  an’  I go  to  see  him  he  r-runs  th’  pail 
out  in  a valise,  an’  we  take  our  criminal  dhrink  in 
th’ woodshed.  Well,  th’  three  iv  us  sits  here  an’ 
pass  th’  dhrink  an’  sing  our  songs  iv  glee  till  about 
ilivin  o’clock ; thin  ye  begin  to  look  over  ye’er 
shouldher  ivry  time  ye  hear  a woman’s  voice  an’ 
fin’lly  ye  get  up  an’  yawn  an’  dhrink  ivrything  on 
th’  table  an’  gallop  home.  Clancy  an’  I raysume 
our  argymint  on  th’  Chinese  sityation  an’  afterwards 
we  carol  together  me  singin’  th’  chune  an’  him 
doin’  a razor  edge  tinor.  Thin  he  tells  me  how 
much  he  cares  f’r  me  an’  proposes  to  rassle  me 
an’  weeps  to  think  how  bad  he  threats  his  wife  an’ 
begs  me  niver  to  marry,  f’r  a bachelor’s  life’s  th’ 
on’y  wan,  an’  ’tis  past  two  o’clock  whin  I hook  him 
on  a frindly  polisman  an’  sind  him  thriDDin’ — th’ 

[239] 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


polisman — down  th’  sthreet.  All  r-right  so  far. 
But  in  th’  mornin’  another  story.  If  Clancy  gets 
home  an’  finds  his  wife’s  rayturned  fr’m  th’  seaside 
or  th’  stock  yards,  or  whereiver  ’tis  she’s  spint  her 
vacation,  they’se  no  r-rest  f ’r  him  in  th’  mornin’. 
His  head  may  sound  in  his  ears  like  a automobill 
an’  th’  look  iv  an  egg  may  make  his  knees  thremble, 
but  he’s  got  to  be  off  to  th’  blacksmith  shop,  an’ 
hiven  help  his  helper  that  mornin’.  So  Clancy’s 
gettin’  r-rich  an’  puttin’  a coopoly  on  his  house. 

“ But  with  me  ’tis  diff ’rent.  Whin  Phibbius 

Apollo  as  Hogan  calls  th’  sun,  raises  his  head  above 
th’  gas  house,  I’m  cuddled  up  in  me  couch  an’ 
Morpus,  gawd  iv  sleep,  has  a sthrangle  holt  on 
me.  Th’  alarm  clock  begins  to  go  off  an’  I’ve  just 
sthrength  enough  to  raise  up  an’  fire  it  through  th’ 
window.  Two  hours  aftherward  I have  a gleam  iv 
human  intillygince  an’  hook  me  watch  out  fr’m 
undher  th’  pillow.  ‘ It’s  eight  o’clock,’  says  I. 
‘But  is  it  eight  in  th’  mornin’  or  eight  in  th’  even- 
in’?’ says  I.  ‘Faith,  I dinnaw,  an’  divvle  a bit 
care  I.  Eight’s  on’y  a number,’  says  I.  ‘ It  ripri- 
sints  nawthin’,’  says  I.  “ They’se  hours  enough  in 
th’  day  f’r  a free  man.  I’ll  turr-n  over  an’  sleep  till 
eight-wan  and  thin  I’ll  wake  up  refrished,’  I says. 
’Tis  ilivin  o’clock  whin  me  tired  lids  part  f’r  good 

[240] 


A BACHELOR’S  LIFE 


an’  Casey  has  been  here  to  pay  me  eight  dollars  an’ 
findin’  me  not  up  has  gone  away  f ’r  another  year. 

“A  marrid  man  gets  th’  money,  Hinnissy,  but  a 
bachelor  man  gets  th’  sleep.  Whin  all  me  marrid 
frinds  is  off  to  wurruk  poundin’  th’  ongrateful  sand 
an’  wheelin’  th’  rebellyous  slag,  in  th’  heat  iv  th’ 
afthernoon,  ye  can  see  ye’er  onfortchnit  bachelor 
frind  perambulatin’  up  an’  down  th’  shady  side  iv 
th’  sthreet,  with-  an  umbrelly  over  his  head  an’  a 
wurrud  iv  cheer  fr’m  young  an’  old  to  enliven  his 
loneliness.” 

“But  th’  childher?”  asked  Mr.  Hennessy  slyly. 

“ Childher ! ” said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ Sure  I have 
th’  finest  fam’ly  in  th’  city.  Without  scandal  I’m 
th’  father  iv  ivry  child  in  Ar-rchey  r-road  fr’m  end 
to  end.” 

“ An’  none  iv  ye’er  own,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ I wish  to  hell,  Hinnissy,”  said  Mr.  Dooley 
savagely,  “ ye’d  not  lean  against  that  mirror,  I don’t 
want  to  have  to  tell  ye  again. 


[241  ] 


THE  EDUCATION  OF 
THE  YOUNG 


HE  troubled  Mr.  Hennessy  had  been 
telling  Mr.  Dooley  about  the  difficulty 
of  making  a choice  of  schools  for 
Packy  Hennessy,  who  at  the  age  of 
six  was  at  the  point  where  the  family  must  decide 
his  career. 

“ ’Tis  a big  question,”  said  Mr.  Dooley,  “ an’  wan 
that  seems  to  be  worryin’  th’  people  more  thin  it 
used  to  whin  ivry  boy  was  designed  f ’r  th’  priest- 
hood, with  a full  undherstandin’  be  his  parents  that 
th’  chances  was  in  favor  iv  a brick  yard.  Now- 
adays they  talk  about  th’  edycation  iv  th’  child 
befure  they  choose  th’  name.  ’Tis : ‘ Th’  kid  talks 
in  his  sleep.  ’Tis  th’  fine  lawyer  he’ll  make.’  Or, 
‘Did  ye  notice  him  admirin’  that  photygraph  ? 
He’ll  be  a gr-reat  journalist.’  Or,  ‘Look  at  him 

[243] 


J5he  EDUCATION  of  the  YOUNG 


fishin’  in  Uncle  Tim’s  watch  pocket.  We  must 
thrain  him  f ’r  a banker.’  Or,  ‘ I’m  afraid  he’ll  niver 
be  sthrong  enough  to  wurruk.  He  must  go  into 
th’  church.’  Befure  he’s  baptized  too,  d’ye  mind. 
’Twill  not  be  long  befure  th’  time  comes  whin  th’ 
soggarth’ll  christen  th’  infant:  ‘Judge  Pathrick 
Aloysius  Hinnissy,  iv  th’  Northern  District  iv 
Illinye,’  or  ‘ Profissor  P.  Aloysius  Hinnissy,  LL.D., 
S.T.D.,  P.G.N.,  iv  th’  faculty  iv  Nothre  Dame.’ 
Th’  innocent  child  in  his  cradle,  wondherin’  what 
ails  th’  mist  iv  him  an’  where  he  got  such  funny 
lookin’  parents  fr’m,  has  thim  to  blame  that  brought 
him  into  th’  wurruld  if  he  dayvilops  into  a sicond 
story  man  befure  he’s  twinty-wan  an’  is  took  up  be 
th’  polis.  Why  don’t  you  lade  Packy  down  to  th’ 
occylist  an’  have  him  fitted  with  a pair  iv  eye- 
glasses ? Why  don’t  ye  put  goloshes  on  him,  give 
him  a blue  umbrelly  an’  call  him  a doctor  at  wanst 
an’  be  done  with  it? 

“ To  my  mind,  Hinnissy,  we’re  wastin’  too  much 
time  thinkin’  iv  th’  future  iv  our  young,  an’  thryin’ 
to  lam  thim  early  what  they  oughtn’t  to  know  till 
they’ve  growed  up.  We  sind  th’  childher  to  school 
as  if  ’twas  a summer  garden  where  they  go  to  be 
amused  instead  iv  a pinitinchry  where  they’re  sint 
f ’r  th’  original  sin.  Whin  I was  a la-ad  I was  put 

t244] 


Ghe  EDUCATION  of  the  YOUNG 


at  me  ah-bee  abs,  th’  first  day  I set  fut  in  th’  school 
behind  th’  hedge  an’  me  head  was  sore  inside  an’ 
out  befure  I wint  home.  Now  th’  first  thing  we 
larn  th’  future  Mark  Hannas  an’  Jawn  D.  Gateses 
iv  our  naytion  is  waltzin’,  singin’,  an’  cuttin’  pitchers 
out  iv  a book.  We’d  be  much  betther  teachin’  thim 
th’  sthrangle  hold,  f ’r  that’s  what  they  need  in  life. 

“I  know  what’ll  happen.  Ye’ll  sind  Packy  to 
what  th’  Germans  call  a Kindygartin,  an’  ’tis  a 
good  thing  f’r  Germany,  because  all  a German 
knows  is  what  some  wan  tells  him,  an’  his  grajation 
papers  is  a certy-ficate  that  he  don’t  need  to  think 
anny  more.  But  we’ve  inthrajooced  it  into  this 
counthry,  an’  whin  I was  down  seein’  if  I cud  in- 
jooce  Rafferty,  th’  Janitor  iv  th’  Isaac  Muggs  Gram- 
mar School,  f’r  to  vote  f’r  Riordan — an’  he’s  goin’ 
to — I dhropped  in  on  Cassidy’s  daughter,  Mary 
Ellen,  an’  see  her  kindygartnin’.  Th’  childher  was 
settin’  ar-round  on  th’  flure  an’  some  was  moldin’ 
dachshunds  out  iv  mud  an’  wipin’  their  hands  on 
their  hair,  an’  some  was  carvin’  figures  iv  a goat  out 
iv  paste-board  an’  some  was  singin’  an’  some  was 
sleepin’  an’  a few  was  dancin’  an’  wan  la-ad  was 
pullin’  another  la-ad’s  hair.  ‘ Why  don’t  ye  take 
th’  coal  shovel  to  that  little  barbaryan,  Mary 
Ellen'?’  says  I.  ‘We  don’t  believe  in  corporeal 

C245] 


15he  EDUCATION  of  the  YOUNG 


punishment,’  says  she.  ‘ School  shud  be  made 
pleasant  f ’r  th’  childher,’  she  says.  ‘ Th’  child  who’s 
hair  is  bein’  pulled  is  lamin’  patience,’  she  says,  ‘an’ 
th’  child  that’s  pullin’  th’  hair  is  discovrin’  th’  footil- 
ity  iv  human  indeavor,’  says  she.  ‘Well,  oh,  well,’ 
says  I,  ‘times  has  changed  since  I was  a boy,’  I 
says.  ‘ Put  thim  through  their  exercises,’  says  I. 
‘Tommy,’ says  I, ‘spell  cat,’ I says.  ‘Go  to  th’ 
divvle,’  says  th’  cheerub.  ‘ Very  smartly  answered,’ 
says  Mary  Ellen.  ‘Ye  shud  not  ask  thim  to  spell,’ 
she  says.  ‘ They  don’t  lam  that  till  they  get  to  col- 
ledge,’  she  says,  ‘ an’  ’ she  says,  ‘ sometimes  not  even 
thin,’  she  says.  ‘ An’  what  do  they  larn  ? ’ says  I. 
‘ Rompin’,’  she  says,  ‘ an’  dancin’,’  she  says,  ‘ an’  inde- 
pindance  iv  speech,  an’  beauty  songs,  an’  sweet 
thoughts,  an’  how  to  make  home  home-like,’  she 
says.  ‘ W ell,’  says  I,  ‘ I didn’t  take  anny  iv  thim 
things  at  colledge,  so  ye  needn’t  unblanket  thim,’  I 
says.  ‘ I won’t  put  thim  through  anny  exercise  to- 
day,’ I says.  ‘But  whisper,  Mary  Ellen,’  says  I, 
‘ Don’t  ye  niver  feel  like  bastin’  th’  seeraphims  ? ’ 
‘Th’  teachin’s  iv  Freebull  and  Pitzotly  is  conthrary 
to  that,’  she  says.  ‘ But  I’m  goin’  to  be  marrid  an’ 
lave  th’  school  on  Choosdah,  th’  twinty-sicond  iv 
Janooary,’  she  says,  ‘ an’  on  Mondah,  th’  twinty-first, 
I’m  goin’  to  ask  a few  iv  th’  little  darlin’s  to  th’ 

[246] 


t5he  EDUCATION  o/  the  YOUNG 

house  an’,’  she  says,  ‘stew  thim  over  a slow  fire,’ 
she  says.  Mary  Ellen  is  not  a German,  Hinnissy. 

“Well,  afther  they  have  larned  in  school  what 
they  ar-re  licked  f ’r  lamin’  in  th’  back  yard — that 
is  squashin’  mud  with  their  hands — they’re  con- 
ducted up  through  a channel  iv  free  an’  beautiful 
thought  till  they’re  r-ready  f ’r  colledge.  Mamma 
packs  a few  doylies  an’  tidies  into  son’s  bag,  an’ 
some  silver  to  be  used  in  case  iv  throuble  with  th’ 
landlord,  an’  th’  la-ad  throts  off  to  th’  siminary.  If 
he’s  not  sthrong  enough  to  look  f ’r  high  honors  as  a 
middle  weight  pugilist  he  goes  into  th’  thought  de- 
partmint.  Th’  prisidint  takes  him  into  a Turkish 
room,  gives  him  a cigareet  an’  says : ‘ Me  dear  boy, 
what  special  branch  iv  lamin’  wud  ye  like  to  have 
studied  f’r  ye  be  our  compitint  profissors?  We 
have  a chair  iv  Beauty  an’  wan  iv  Puns  an’  wan  iv 
Pothry  on  th’  Changin’  Hues  iv  the  Settin’  Sun, 
an’  wan  on  Platonic  Love,  an’  wan  on  Nonsense 
Rhymes,  an’  wan  on  Sweet  Thoughts,  an’  wan  on 
How  Green  Grows  th’  Grass,  an’  wan  on’  th’  Rela- 
tion iv  Ice  to  th’  Greek  Idee  iv  God,’  he  says. 
‘ This  is  all  ye’ll  need  to  equip  ye  f’r  th’  perfect 
life,  onless,’  he  says,  ‘ ye  intind  bein’  a dintist,  in 
which  case,’  he  says,  ‘ we  won’t  think  much  iv  ye, 
but  we  have  a good  school  where  ye  can  larn  that 

f 247  ] 


15he  EDUCATION  of  the  YOUNG 

disgraceful  thrade,’  he  says.  An’  th’  la-ad  makes  his 
choice,  an’  ivry  mornin’  whin  he’s  up  in  time  he 
takes  a whiff  iv  hasheesh  an’  goes  off  to  hear  Profis- 
sor  Maryanna  tell  him  that  ‘ if  th’  dates  iv  human 
knowledge  must  be  rejicted  as  subjictive,  how 
much  more  must  they  be  subjicted  as  rejictive  if,  as 
I think,  we  keep  our  thoughts  fixed  upon  th’  in- 
anity iv  th’  finite  in  comparison  with  th’  onthinkable 
truth  with  th’  ondivided  an’  onimaginable  reality. 
Boys  ar-re  ye  with  me  ? ’ 

“ That’s  at  wan  colledge — Th’  Colledge  iv 
Speechless  Thought.  Thin  there’s  th’  Colledge  iv 
Thoughtless  Speech,  where  th’  la-ad  is  larned  that 
th’  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  annywan  is  to  be 
prisident  iv  a railroad  consolidation.  Th’  head  iv 
this  colledge  believes  in  thrainin’  young  men  f ’r  th’ 
civic  ideel,  Father  Kelly  tells  me.  Th’  on’y  thrain- 
in’ I know  f’r  th’  civic  ideel  is  to  have  an  alarm 
clock  in  ye’er  room  on  iliction  day.  He  believes 
‘ young  men  shud  be  equipped  with  Courage,  Dis- 
cipline, an’  Loftiness  iv  Purpose ; ’ so  I suppose 
Packy,  if  he  wint  there,  wud  listen  to  lectures  fr’m 
th’  Profissor  iv  Courage  an’  Erasmus  H.  Noddle, 
Doctor  iv  Loftiness  iv  Purpose.  I loft,  ye  loft,  he 
lofts.  Pve  always  felt  we  needed  some  wan  to  teach 
our  young  th’  Courage  they  can’t  get  walkin’  home 

[ H8  ] 


T5he  EDUCATION  of  the  YOUNG 


in  th’  dark,  an’  th’  loftiness  iv  purpose  that  doesn’t 
start  with  bein’  hungry  an’  lookin’  f’r  wurruk.  An’ 
in  th’  colledge  where  these  studies  are  taught,  its  un- 
dhershtud  that  even  betther  thin  gettin’  th’  civic 
ideel  is  bein’  head  iv  a thrust.  Th’  on’y  trouble 
with  th’  coorse  is  that  whin  Packy  comes  out  loaded 
with  loftiness  iv  purpose,  all  th’  lofts  is  full  iv  men 
that  had  to  figure  it  out  on  th’  farm.” 

“ I don’t  undherstand  a wurrud  iv  what  ye’re  say- 
in’,”  said  Mr.  Hennesy. 

“ No  more  do  I,”  said  Mr.  Dooley.  “ But  I be- 
lieve ’tis  as  Father  Kelly  says : ‘ Childher  shudden’t 
be  sint  to  school  to  lam,  but  to  larn  how  to  larn.  I 
don’t  care  what  ye  larn  thim  so  long  as  ’tis  onpleas- 
ant  to  thim.’  ’Tis  thrainin’  they  need,  Hinnissy. 
That’s  all.  I niver  cud  make  use  iv  what  I lamed  in 
colledge  about  thrigojoomethry  an’ — an’ — grammar 
an’  th’  welts  I got  on  th’  skull  fr’m  the  schoolmas- 
ther’s  cane  I have  nivver  been  able  to  turn  to  anny 
account  in  th’  business,  but  ’twas  th’  bein’  there  and 
havin’  to  get  things  to  heart  without  askin’  th’  mean- 
in’  iv  thim  an’  goin’  to  school  cold  an’  cornin’  home 
hungry,  that  made  th’  man  iv  me  ye  see  befure  ye.” 
“ That’s  why  th’  good  woman’s  throubled  about 
Packy,”  said  Hennessy. 

“ Go  home,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 

[ 249  ] 


4 4 


L’AIGLON  ” 


OGAN’S  been  tellin’  me  iv  a new  play 
he  r-read  th’  other  day,”  said  Mr. 
Dooley.  “’Tis  be  th’ same  la-ad  that 
wrote  th’  piece  they  played  down  in  th’ 
Christyan  Brothers’  school  last  year  about  the  man 
with  th’  big  nose,  that  wud  dhraw  a soord  or  a pome 
on  e’er  a man  alive.  This  wan  is  called  ‘ The  Little 
Eagle,’  an’  ’tis  about  th’  son  iv  Napolyon  th’  Impror 
iv  th’  Fr-rinch,  th’  first  wan,  not  th’  wan  I had  th’ 
fight  about  in  Schwartzmeister’s  in  eighteen  hun- 
dhred  an’  siventy.  Bad  cess  to  that  man,  he  was  no 
good.  I often  wondher  why  I shtud  up  f ’r  him 
whin  he  had  hardly  wan  frind  in  th’  counthry. 
But  I did,  an’  ye  might  say  I’m  a vethran  iv  th’ 
Napolyonic  Wars.  I am  so. 

“ But  th’  first  Napolyon  was  a diff’rent  man,  an’ 
whin  he  died  he  left  a son  that  th’  coorts  tur-rned 
over  to  th’  custody  iv  his  mother,  th’  ol’  man  bein’ 
on  th’  island — th’  same  place  where  Gin’ral  Crown- 

[251  ] 


L*  AIGLON  *• 


joy  is  now.  ’Tis  about  this  la-ad  th’  play’s  writ- 
ten. He  don’t  look  to  be  much  account  havin’  a 
hackin’  cough  all  through  the  piece,  but  down 
undherneath  he  wants  to  be  impror  iv  th’  Fr-rinch 
like  his  father  befure  him,  d’ye  mind,  on’y  he  don’t 
dare  to  go  out  f’r  it  f’r  fear  iv  catchin’  a bad  cold 
on  his  chist.  Th’  Austhreeches  that  has  charge  iv 
him  don’t  like  th’  idee  iv  havin’  him  know  what 
kind  iv  man  his  father  was.  Whin  he  asks  : 
4 Where’s  pah?’  They  say:  ‘He  died  in  jail.’ 
4 What  happened  in  1805?’  says  th’  boy.  4 In 
1805,’  says  th’  Austhreeches,  4th’  bar-rn  blew  down.’ 
4 In  1806?’  says  th’ boy.  4 In  1806  th’  chimney 
smoked.’  ‘Not  so,’  says  th’  prince.  4 In  1806  me 
father  crossed  th’  Rhine  an’  up,’  he  says,  4 th’  ar-rmed 
camps  he  marched  to  Augaspiel,  to  Lieberneck,  to 
Donnervet.  He  changed  his  boots  at  Mikelstraus 
an’  down  th’  eagle  swooped  on  Marcobrun,’  he  says. 
4 Me  gran’dad  fled  as  flees  th’  hen  befure  th’  hawk, 
but  dad  stayed  not  till  gran’pa,  treed,  besought  f’r 
peace.  That’s  what  me  father  done  unto  me  gran’- 
dad in  eighteen  six.’  At  this  p’int  he  coughs  but 
ye  sees  he  knew  what  was  goin’  on,  bein’  taught  in 
secret  be  a lady  iv  th’  stage  fr’m  whom  manny  a 
la-ad  cud  larn  th’  truth  about  his  father. 

“ Still  he  can’t  be  persuaded  f’r  to  apply  f’r  th’ 
[252] 


«•  L'  AIGLON  ” 


vacant  improrship  on  account  iv  his  lungs,  till  wan 
day  a tailor  shows  up  to  measure  him  f’r  some 
clothes.  Th’  tailor  d’ye  mind  is  a rivolutionist  in 
disguise,  an’  has  come  down  fr’m  Paris  f’r  to  injooce 
th’  young  man  to  take  th’  vacancy.  ‘ Fourteen,  six, 
thirty-three.  How’ll  ye  have  th’  pants  made,  Im- 
pror  ? ’ says  th’  tailor.  ‘Wan  or  two  hip  pockets  ? ’ 
says  he. 

“ ‘ Two  hips,’  says  young  Napolyon.  ‘ What  do 
ye  mean  be  that  ? ’ he  says. 

“ ‘ Thirty-eight,  siventeen,  two  sides,  wan  watch, 
buckle  behind.  All  Paris  awaits  ye,  sire,’  ” 

“ ‘ Make  th’  sleeves  a little  longer  thin  this,’  says 
th’  boy.  ‘ An’  fill  out  th’  shouldhers.  What  proof 
have  I ? ’” 

‘“Wan  or  two  inside  pockets ?’  says  th’  tailor. 
‘Two  insides.  Hankerchief  pocket?  Wan  han- 
kerchief.  Th’  pants  is  warn  much  fuller  this 
year.  Make  that  twinty-eight  instid  iv  twinty- 
siven,’  he  says.  ‘ Paris  shrieks  f’r  ye,’  he  says. 

“ ‘ Proof,’  says  th’  la-ad. 

“‘They’ve  named  a perfume  afther  ye,  a shirt 
waist,  a paper  collar,  a five  cint  seegar,  a lot  iv 
childer.  Nay  more,  a breakfast  dish  christened  f’r 
ye  is  on  ivry  lip.  Will  I forward  th’  soot  collect?’ 
he  says. 


[253] 


“ L*  AIGLON  ” 


“ ‘ No,  sind  th’  bill  to  me  mother,’  says  th’  boy. 
4 An’  meet  me  in  th’  park  at  tin,’  he  says. 

“ So  ’tis  planned  to  seize  th’  throne,  but  it  comes 
to  nawthin’.” 

“ Why’s  that  ? ” asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ F’r  th’  same  reason  that  the  Irish  rivolution  failed, 
th’  polis  stopped  it.  Th’  con-spirators  met  in  th’ 
park  an’  were  nailed  be  a park  polisman.  They 
didn’t  run  in  th’  boy,  but  left  him  alone  in  th’  place 
which  was  where  his  father  wanst  fought  a battle. 
As  he  shtands  there  coughin’  he  begins  to  hear  voices 
iv  soops  that  followed  th’  ol’  Impror.  ‘Comrade’ 
says  wan.  4 Give  me  ye’er  hand.’  4 1 can’t,’  says 
another.  4 1 haven’t  wan  left.’  4 Where’s  me  leg  ? ’ 
4 Sarch  me.’  4 I’ve  lost  me  voice.’  4 Me  mind  is 
shot  away.’  4 Reach  me  some  wather.’  4 Pass  th’ 
can.’  4 A horse  is  settin’  on  me  chest.’  ‘What’s 
that?  They’se  a batthry  iv  artillery  on  me.’  4 I’ve 
broke  something.  What  is  it  ? ’ 4 1 cannot  move 

me  leg.’  4 Curses  on  the  Cavalry.’  4 Have  ye  got 
th’  time  ? ’ 4 Oh  me  knee,  how  it  aches  me.’  4 Ha 

ha.  Ha  ha.  Ha  ha.  Ha  ha.’  ‘Veev,  th’  Im- 
pror.’ 4 Right  about  face,  shouldher  ar-rms,  right 
shouldher  shift  arms.  March.’  A harsh,  metallic 
voice  in  the  distance : 4 Gin-rals,  leftnant  Gin’rals, 
officers,  sooz-officers,  an’  men — .’  ’Tis  th’  boy’s 

[254] 


“ L* AIGLON 


9 9 


father.  Th’  boy  pulls  out  his  soord  an’  says  he : 
‘ Come  on,  let’s  fight.  Play  away  there  band.  Blow 
fife  and  banners  wave.  Lave  me  at  thim.  Come 
on,  come  on ! ’ an’  he  rushes  out  an’  makes  a stab  at 
an  Austhreech  regimint  that’s  come  up  to  be  dhrilled. 
Thin  he  undherstands  ’twas  all  a dhream  with  him 
an’  he  raysumes  his  ol’  job.  In  th’  next  act  he  dies.” 

“ That’s  a good  act,”  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“’Tis  fine.  In  Austhree  where  this  happened 
whin  a man  dies  ivrybody  comes  in  to  see  him. 
Ye  meet  a frind  on  th’  sthreet.  an’  he  says : ‘ Come 
on  over  an  see  Harrigan  jump  off.’  So  whin  th’ 
la-ad  is  r-ready  f ’r  to  go  out  ivry  body  gathers  in  his 
room.  ’Tis  a fash’nable  ivint,  like  th’  Horse  Show. 
Among  those  prisint  is  his  mother.  She’s  a frivolous 
ol’  loon,  this  Marie  Louisa,  that  was  Napolyon’s 
sicond  wife,  though  between  you  an’  me,  Father 
Kelly  has  niver  reconized  her  as  such,  th’  Impror 
havin’  a wife  livin’  that  was  as  tough  as  they  make 
thim.  But  annyhow  she  was  there.  She  hadn’t 
done  much  f ’r  her  son,  but  she  come  to  see  him  off 
with  siv’ral  ladies  that  loved  him  an’  others.  Bein’ 
a busy  an’  fashn’able  woman  she  cudden’t  raymimber 
his  name.  At  times  she  called  him  ‘Frank’  an’ 
thin ‘ Fronzwah  ’ an’  ‘Fritz’  an’  ‘Ferdynand  ’ — ’twas 
a name  beginnin’  with  ‘ f ’ she  knew  that — but  he 

[255] 


“ L’  AIGLON  " 

f ’rgive  her  an’  ast  somewan  to  r-read  to  him.  ‘ What 
shall  it  be  ? ’ says  a gin’ral.  ‘ R-read  about  th’  time 
I was  christened,’  says  th’  boy.  An’  th’  gin’ral 
r-reads:  ‘At  iliven  o’clock  at  th’  church  iv  Nothre 
Dame  in  th’  prisince  iv  th’  followin’  princes — 

‘ Cut  out  th’  princes,’  says  th’  la-ad.  ‘ An’  kings — ’ 
‘F’rget  th’  kings,’  says  th’  lad.  ‘Th’  son  iv  th’ 
Impror — ’ ‘ He’s  dead,’  says  th’  doctor.  ‘ Put  on 

his  white  soot,’  says  th’  Main  Thing  among  th’ 
Austhreeches  that  was  again  him  fr’m  th’  beginnin’. 
An’  there  ye  ar-re.” 

“ Is  that  all  ? ” asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

“ That’s  all,”  said  Mr.  Dooley. 

“ He  died  ? ” 

« He  did.” 

“ But  he  was  sthrong  r-right  up  to  th’  end.” 

“ He  was  that.  None  sthronger.” 

“ An’  what  ? ” asked  Mr.  Hennessy,  “ did  they 
do  with  th’  soot  iv  clothes  he  ordhered  fr’m  th’ 
tailor  ? ” 


CASUAL  OBSER- 
VATIONS 

O most  people  a savage  nation  is  wan 
that  doesn’t  wear  oncomf’rtable  clothes. 


Manny  people’d  rather  be  kilt  at 
Newport  thin  at  Bunker  Hill. 


If  ye  live  enough  befure  thirty  ye  won’t  care  to 
live  at  all  afther  fifty. 


As  Shakespere  says,  be  thrue  to  ye’ersilf  an’  ye 
will  not  thin  be  false  to  ivry  man. 


Play  actors,  orators  an’  women  ar-re  a class  be 
thimsilves. 


Among  men,  Hinnissy,  wet  eye  manes  dhry 
heart. 

[257] 


CASUAL  OBSERVATIONS 


Th’  nearest  anny  man  comes  to  a con-ciption  iv 
his  own  death  is  lyin’  back  in  a comfortable  coffin 
with  his  ears  cocked  f’r  th’  flatthrin’  remarks  iv  th’ 
mourners. 

A fanatic  is  a man  that  does  what  he  thinks  th’ 
Lord  wud  do  if  He  knew  th’  facts  iv  th’  case. 


A millionyaire — or  man  out  iv  debt — wanst  toP 
me  his  dhreams  always  took  place  in  th’  farm-house 
where  he  was  bor-rn.  He  said  th’  dhreamin’  part 
iv  his  life  was  th’  on’y  part  that  seemed  real. 

’Tis  no  job  to  find  out  who  wrote  an  anonymous 
letter.  Jus’  look  out  iv  th’  window  whin  ye  get  it. 
’Tis  harder  to  do  evil  thin  good  be  stealth. 

A German’s  idee  iv  Hivin  is  painted  blue  an’  has 
cast-iron  dogs  on  th’  lawn. 

No  man  was  iver  so  low  as  to  have  rayspict  f’r 
his  brother-in-law. 

Th’  modhren  idee  iv  governmint  is  ‘Snub  th’ 
people,  buy  th’  people,  jaw  th’  people.’ 

I wisht  I was  a German  an’  believed  in  ma* 
chinery. 


[258] 


CASUAL  OBSERVATIONS 

A vote  o.i  th’  tallysheet  is  worth  two  in  the  box. 


I care  not  who  makes  th’  laws  iv  a nation  if  I 
can  get  out  an  injunction. 

An  Englishman  appears  resarved  because  he 
can’t  talk. 

What  China  needs  is  a Chinese  exclusion  act. 


All  th’  wurruld  loves  a lover — excipt  sometimes 
th’  wan  that’s  all  th’  wurruld  to  him. 


A nation  with  colonies  is  kept  busy.  Look  at 
England ! She’s  like  wan  iv  th’  Swiss  bell-ringers. 

Th’  paramount  issue  f ’r  our  side  is  th’  wan  th’ 
other  side  doesn’t  like  to  have  mintioned. 


If  ye  put  a beggar  on  horseback  ye’ll  walk  ye’er- 
silf. 

It  takes  a sthrong  man  to  be  mean.  A mean 
man  is  wan  that  has  th’  courage  not  to  be  gin’rous. 
Whin  I give  a tip  ’tis  not  because  I want  to  but 
because  I’m  afraid  iv  what  th’  waiter’ll  think.  Rus- 
sell Sage  is  wan  iv  Nature’s  noblemen. 

[ 259  ] 


CASUAL  OBSERVATIONS 


An  autocrat’s  a ruler  that  does  what  th’  people 
wants  an’  takes  th’  blame  f’r  it.  A constitootional 
ixicutive,  Hinnissy,  is  a ruler  that  does  as  he  dam 
pleases  an’  blames  th’  people. 

’Tis  as  hard  f’r  a rich  man  to  enther  th’  kingdom 
iv  Hiven  as  it  is  f’r  a poor  man  to  get  out  iv 
Purgatory. 

Evil  communications  corrupt  good  Ph’lippeens. 

Ivry  man  has  his  superstitions.  If  I look  at  a 
new  moon  over  me  shoulder  I get  a crick  in  me 
neck. 

Thrust  ivrybody — but  cut  th’  ca-ards. 

If  Rooshia  wud  shave  we’d  not  be  afraid  iv  her. 

Some  day  th’  Ph’lippeens  ’ll  be  known  as  th’ 
Standard  Isles  iv  th’  Passyfic. 

A woman’s  sinse  iv  humor  is  in  her  husband’s 
name. 

Most  women  ought  niver  to  look  back  if  they 
want  a following. 


If  ye  dhrink  befure  siven  ye’ll  cry  befure  iliven. 
[ 260  ] 


CASUAL  OBSERVATIONS 


A man  that’d  expict  to  thrain  lobsters  to  fly  in  a 
year  is  called  a loonytic;  but  a man  that  thinks 
men  can  be  tur-rned  into  angels  be  an  iliction  is 
called  a rayformer  an’  remains  at  large. 

Th’  throuble  with  most  iv  us,  Hinnissy,  is  we 
swallow  pollytical  idees  befure  they’re  ripe  an’  they 
don’t  agree  with  us. 

Dhressmakers’  bills  sinds  women  into  lithrachoor 
an’  men  into  an  early  decline. 

A bur-rd  undher  a bonnet  is  worth  two  on  th’ 
crown. 

People  tell  me  to  be  frank,  but  how  can  I be 
whin  I don’t  dare  to  know  mesilf? 


People  that  talk  loud  an’  offind  ye  with  their  in- 
solence are  usu’lly  shy  men  thryin’  to  get  over  their 
shyness.  ’Tis  th’  quite,  resarved,  ca’m  spoken  man 
that’s  mashed  on  himsilf. 


If  men  cud  on’y  enjye  th’  wealth  an’  position  th’ 
newspapers  give  thim  whin  they’re  undher  arrest ! 
Don’t  anny  but  prominent  clubman  iver  elope  or 
embezzle  ? 


[261] 


CASUAL  OBSERVATIONS 


Miditation  is  a gift  con-fined  to  unknown  phil- 
osophers an’  cows.  Others  don’t  begin  to  think  till 
they  begin  to  talk  or  write. 

A good  manny  people  r-read  th’  ol’  sayin’  “ Lar- 
ceny is  th’  sincerest  form  iv  flatthry.” 

’Tis  a good  thing  th’  fun’ral  sermons  ar-re  not 
composed  in  th’  confissional. 

Most  vigitaryans  I iver  see  looked  enough  like 
their  food  to  be  classed  as  cannybals. 

I don’t  see  why  anny  man  who  believes  in  medi- 
cine wud  shy  at  th’  faith  cure. 

Miracles  are  laughed  at  be  a nation  that  r-reads 
thirty  millyon  newspapers  a day  an’  supports  Wall 
sthreet. 

All  men  are  br-rave  in  comp’ny  an’  cow’rds  alone, 
but  some  shows  it  clearer  thin  others. 

I’d  like  to  tell  me  frind  Tiddy  that  they’se  a 
strenuse  life  an’  a sthrenuseless  life. 

I’d  like  to’ve  been  ar-round  in  th’  times  th’  his- 
torical novelists  writes  about — but  I wudden’t  like 
to  be  in  th’  life  insurance  business. 

[262] 


CASUAL  OBSERVATIONS 


I wondher  why  porthrait  painters  look  down  on 
phrenologists. 

Di-plomacy  is  a continyual  game  iv  duck  on  th’ 
rock — with  France  th’  duck. 


Whin  we  think  we’re  makin’  a gr-reat  hit  with 
th’  wurruld  we  don’t  know  what  our  own  wives 
thinks  iv  us. 


[263] 


Popular  with  “The  Boys 


99 


TALES  OF  THE 

Ex-T  anks 

By  CLARENCE  LOUIS  CULLEN. 


The  St . Louis  Mirror  says  of  this  book  ? 
4i  It  is  a masterpiece  of  jag  literature.  . . . The 
weird  and  wonderful  acquaintances,  dearer 
than  a brother,  that  a man  makes  when 
‘ loaded/  the  queerly  wise  things  done,  with- 
out leaving  the  slightest  trace  of  recollection, 
the  way  the  ‘stuff'  catches  a victim  of  a 
sudden,  and,  making  him  a prince,  lands  him 
finally  a pauper,  are  described  with  an  evident 
exactness  that  makes  the  reader  explode  with 
laughter.  . . . Here's  Rabelais  as  he  might  be 
reincarnated." 


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Beautifully  printed  in  two  colors  on  old  Chester  deckle 
edge  paper,  with  decorative  borders  by  Charles  D. 
Farrand,  fourteen  half-tone  illustrations  by  Gilbert 
James,  and  a portrait  of  Fitzgerald.  In  every  way  a 
superior  edition  at  a moderate  price.  Gilt  tops,  attrac- 
tively bound  in  cloth  and  gold.  Size  S/ix  7^4* 

PRICE  ONE  DOLLAR  AND  TWENTY-FIVE  CENTS 


BOOKLET  EDITION 

Beautifully  and  daintily  printed  in  two  colors  on  fine 
laid  paper,  with  Persian  cover  design,  24  pages,  con- 
taining the  complete  text  of  the  fourth  edition  of  Fitz- 
gerald’s translation. 

PRICE  TEN  CENTS 


Sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 


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Kiplin^s  Recessional 


EDITION  DE  LUXE , JVITH  LARGE  PORTRAIT 

A perfect  reproduction  of  Wm.  Strang’s  recent  etch- 
ing of  Mr.  Kipng,  by  far  the  best  portrait  yet  given  to 
the  pub  c.  The  picture  its'  f is  a photogravure,  size 
9x11 enclosed  in  a portfolio  of  extra  thick  deckle- 
edge  Strathmore  cover  paper,  size  12^x20  inches  open, 
and  12^x914  inches  closed,  with  a beautiful  cover 
design  in  colors  on  the  front  cover,  and  the  immortal 
€i Recessional”  printed  on  the  inner  side  of  the  flaps.  Jt 
is  designed  to  be  a finished  production  as  it  is  especially 
appropriate  for  mantel  or  bookshelf,  or  the  picture  can 
be  removed  for  framing  if  desired,  as  it  is  only  lightly 
pasted  at  the  top.  We  offer  this  as  the  best  portrait  of 
Mr,  Kipling  obtainable,  and  think  m no  other  form  is 
the  “Recessional”  so  desirable. 

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A beautiful  and  dainty  little  edition,  printed  in  two 
colors  on  fine  deckle-edge  paper,  and  bound  in  deckle 
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With  a fine  half-tone  portrait  of  the  author. 

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KIPLING'S  POEMS 


BARACK-ROOM  BALLADS,  DEBAR  TMENTAL 
DITTIES , and  OTHER  BALLADS  and  VERSES, 
Including  RECESSIONAL  and  THE  VAMPIRE 

By  RUDTARD  KIPLING 


Two  volumes  in  one,  with  Glossary. 
Fourteen  characteristic  full-page  pen  and 
ink  drawings  by  Charles  D.  Farrand  and 
others,  together  with  the  best  and  most 
recent  portrait  of  the  author.  Handsomely 
bound  in  cloth,  gilt  tops,  and  printed  on 
old  Chester  antique  deckle  edge  paper. 
Size  5^x7^  inches,  340  pages. 


PRICE  ONE  DOLLAR  AND  TWENTY  FIVE  CENTS 


GROSSET  & DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS 
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Other  of 

Chas.  M.  Sheldon’s  Works 

practically  uniform  in  size  and  style  of 
binding  with  “In  His  Steps.” 

Price,  Fifty  Cents  per  Volume 

Mobm  s^aro^s  &>cben  2Days 
CETlje  tEtoentietb  2Door 

Cructfijdon  of  Philip  Strong 
*£is  ffirotbct’s  deeper 
KtcliarD  HBruce 

31otin  Iktng’s  duestton  Class 


Grosset  & Dunlap 

i i East  Sixteenth  Street 
New  Fork  City 


A Beautifully  Illustrated  Edition 
of  Longfellow’s  soul- 
stirring poem 

Ctoangeltne 

Printed  on  super-calandered  paper, 
and  containing  thirty  full-page  half 
tone  and  many  text  illustrations. 

Bound  in  Cloth,  with  handsome 
Cover  Design  in  silver  and  ink.  Gilt 
"Tops. 

price,  jftftp  Cents 


Grosset  St  Dunlap 

n East  Sixteenth  Street 
New  York  City 


THE  BLACK  HOMER 
OF  JIMTOWN 


A Book  of  Real  “Coon”  Stories 


By  ED.  MOTT 

The  best  collection  of  negro  dialect  stories 
Especially  adapted  for  Public  or  Private 
Readings.  Any  reader  who  can  success- 
fully “ swing  ” this  quaint  dialect  will  be 
able  to  extract  a world  of  pleasure  and 
amusement  both  for  himself  and  his  hearers. 


The  Buffalo  News  says:  “It  is  the  best 
thing  in  ‘Coon’  Stories  in  many  a day.” 


1 2 m o : Cloth  : Price , $1.25 


GROSSET  & DUNLAP 
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The  Popular  Military 
Novels  of 


CAPTAIN  CHARLES  KING,  U.  S.  A. 


A new  edition  of  these  fascinating  tales  of 
Army  Life,  printed  from  new  large  type  plates, 
on  fine  laid  paper,  and  handsomely  bound  in 
the  best  silk-finished  cloth  with  striking  cover 
design  in  colors.  Full  iamo.  in  size.  The 
list  is  as  follows: 

Foes  in  Ambush 
Warrior  Gap 
CdLptaJn.  Dreams 
An  Army  Wife 

Colonel's  Christmas  Dinner 
Fort  Fra.yne 

Noble  Blood,  and  a West  Point  Parallel 
Found  in  the  Philippines 
Trumpeter  Fred 
Starlight  R-anch 
A Wounded  Name 
A G ql r risen  Tangle 

Price  50  Cents  Per  Copy,  postpaid. 

Can  be  had  at  all  booksellers, 
or  direct  from  the  publishers. 

GROSSET  DUNLAP 
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GROSSET  & DUNLAP’S 

Desirable  Editions 
of  Popular  Books 

The  following  books  are  printed  from  new,  large 
type  plates,  on  fine  laid  paper  of  excellent  quality,  and 
durably  and  handsomely  bound  in  the  best  silk  finished 
book  cloth,  each  with  a handsome  and  distinctive  cover 
design. 

They  are  in  every  way  superior  to  any  other  edi- 
tions at  the  same  price. 

They  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be 
mailed  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of 

FIFTY  CENTS  PER  VOLUME 
Black  Rock,  by  Ralph  Connor 
The  Marble  Faun,  by  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 
Beulah,  by  Augusta  J.  Evans 
Macaria,  by  Augusta  J.  Evans 
Inez,  by  Augusta  J.  Evans 

Evangeline  (with  50  illustrations) 

By  Henry  W.  Longfellow 

Hiawatha,  by  Henry  W.  Longfellow 
Bitter  Sweet,  by  J.  G.  Holland 
An  Englishwoman’s  Love  Letters 
Elizabeth  and  Her  German  Garden 

GROSSET  & DUNLAP,  Publishers 

ii  East  Sixteenth  Street,  New  York 


The  Letters  of  Alphonse 

“ MEMBER  OF  THE  FRENCH  JOURNALISM" 

By  ALEX.  KENEALY 

Alphonse  is  an  accredited  correspondent  of  a Parisian  journal 
and  gives  his  impression  of  things  American  as  he  sees  them,  in 
a series  of  letters  to  his  “ small  Journal  for  to  Read.”  Their 
seemingly  unconscious  humor  is  so  deliciously  absurd  that  it  will 
convulse  the  reader  with  laughter  in  nearly  every  line.  There  is 
no  dialect  in  them,  and  their  humor  lies  entirely  in  the  peculiar 
views  set  forth,  as  well  as  the  grotesque  language  in  which  they 
are  expressed.  No  book  so  genuinely  funny  has  been  published 
in  a decade,  and  the  fun  is  in  an  entirely  new  vein.  Alphonse’s 
description  of  a ride  in  an  “upstairs  berth”  of  a sleeping  car, 
should  be  read  by  every  regular  or  occasional  traveler. 

Cloth  bound,  small  i 2mo,  with  illustrations  and  cover  design 
by  F.  Opper. 

Price , Seventy-Jive  Cents 


On  Many  Greens 

By  MILES  BANTOCK 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  FINDLAY  $ . DOUGLAS 

A book  for  “ Duffers”  as  well  as  Golfers,  being  a compila- 
tion of  clever  things  about  the  Ancient  and  Royal  Game  and 
those  who  play  it.  Every  golfer,  and  most  of  those  who  are 
not  golfers  should  read  this  ltt  le  book.  It  contains  a little  that 
is  serious  and  much  that  is  pure  fun,  collected  from  all  sorts  of 
sources,  and  edited  by  a golf  enthusiast. 

Just  the  thing  to  read  aloud  to  your  friends,  or  to  while  away 
the  monotony  of  a rainy  afternoon  or  a dull  railway  journey. 

1 2mo,  cloth,  with  many  decorations  and  illustrations. 

Price9  One  Dollar 

Either  of  the  above  books  at  all  booksellers  or  sent,  postpaid,  by  the  publisher § 

GROSSET  & DUNLAP 
ii  East  Sixteenth  Street,  New  York 


The  following  Books  by 

Charles  Garvice 

Can  now  be  had  in  handsome  cloth  binding 
and  printed  on  good  book  paper 


Paid  For 
Elaine 

On  Love’s  Altar 
Better  Than  Life 
Once  in  a Life 
A Life’s  Mistake 
She  Loved  Him 
The  Marquis 
’Twas  Love’s  Fault 
Queen  Kate 
She  Trusted  Him 
In  Cupid’s  Chains 
Just  a Girl 


The  Outcast  of  the  Family 
Mistress  of  Court  Regna 
A Coronet  of  Shame 
An  Innocent  Girl 
By  Devious  Ways 
Story  of  a Passion 
Lorrie;  or,  Hollow  Gold 
Heart  for  Heart 
A Heritage  of  Hate 
The  Shadow  of  Her  Life 
Love,  the  Tyrant 
At  Love’s  Cost 


The  books  named  in  above  list  can  be  had  at  all 
booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  upon  receipt  of 
50  cents  per  volume  by 


GROSSET  & DUNLAP 

ii  East  Sixteenth  Street,  New  York 


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